Bled Stained Days at IAHF
by Lily Winterwood
Summary: Welcome to another year at IAHF. With mysterious strangers, insensitive weaboos, and sentient clocks, it can be easily said that something stranger than Mary Sue terrorists is on the loose. Sequel to the Int'l Academy of Hetalia Fanfiction.
1. Satow and Kane

**Title:** Bled-Stained Days at the International Academy of Hetalia Fanfiction  
><strong>CharactersPairings:** The World. Take that as you will.  
><strong>Genre:<strong> Humour, Parody, General  
><strong>RatingsWarnings:** R, for violence, swearing, and oodles of innuendo  
><strong>Summary:<strong> Welcome to another year at IAHF. With mysterious strangers, insensitive weaboos, and sentient clocks, it can be easily said that something stranger than Mary Sue terrorists is on the loose.

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Axis Powers Hetalia; it's all Himaruya's. The concept of the Official Fanfiction University belongs to Miss Cam. The PPC belongs to Jay, Acacia, and the Boarders.  
><strong>Notes:<strong> This is the SEQUEL to the International Academy of Hetalia Fanfiction. Sequels are meant to be read after the first piece (although I plead guilty to not reading things in order). There will be mentions of events and things that happened in IAHF1. The G8 and the second/third semester students will be making cameos, too.  
>Considering that I will be crunched for time with college shoppingapplications and such, I would like to warn readers not to expect consistent updates like with IAHF1. In fact, there is a very high chance that I might end up on hiatus. I just didn't want to leave ends loose, and I also wanted to experiment with a totally different plotline… let's see how this goes.  
>As always, if you are submitting a student, please go to IAHF1 to get the form. I don't think I will rehash the form in the sequel; it takes up space and OFUM and HFA don't restate their forms, either. Please be creative and keep responses short (unless you want to be in the Nerd Group). Most of you ought to know the drill.<p>

* * *

><p><strong>Bled-Stained Days at the International Academy of Hetalia Fanfiction<strong>

**Part I**

It was a dark and stormy night.

Actually, that was an understatement. The night was so suffocatingly dark that people could barely see their hands even when they were touching their noses. The weather was so violently stormy that the rain appeared to fall in rippling curtains of water that seemed capable of soaking through even the most waterproof of mackintoshes.

Such a night was nearly unprecedented at the International Academy of Hetalia Fanfiction. Granted, the weather always showed off at IAHF and it _was_ hurricane season, but tonight the weather seemed to _want_ to destroy the school. The winds whipped trees into grotesque positions; the thunder and lightning roared and flashed intermittently. Chibi Nations fled their nursery in search of their older counterparts, and even Alfred F. Jones joined his smaller counterpart in hogging the blankets in Arthur Kirkland's bed.

"I love storms," Jennifer Chang whispered excitedly to Workbitch Bartholomew as they huddled under the blankets in their room. Jennifer was a battle-scarred IAHF alumnus who was now serving on the IAHF Group of Eight. She was Asian, wore glasses, and had some extra fat on her belly that she would love to shed. So far, running for her life had kept her in relatively good shape. Who would have known?

"I don't particularly…" Workbitch muttered, clinging onto his girlfriend of almost a year.

"You don't like storms?" Jennifer asked. "It's so frighteningly nice to hear the rain against the windowpane…" She held him tighter nonetheless.

"It's unsettling to see the lightning and hear the thunder… it's like the end of the world is coming…" Workbitch nuzzled against her, breathing lightly against her skin. "Unsettling…"

BOOM. BOOM. Workbitch buried his face into the crook between Jennifer's neck and shoulders. She giggled at the tickling sensation.

"Don't be a scaredy-cat," she pouted, patting his head.

"I don't think that's thunder," he replied.

BOOMBOOMBOOMBOOMBOOM!

"Yeah, that's not…" Jennifer frowned. "Sounds more like knocking."

"Knocking with a battering ram," Workbitch remarked. "Who would call on us at…" he checked the clock. "Two in the morning?"

"It's already two?" Jennifer groped for her glasses on the bedside table. "Let's go see the visitor," she suggested, but as soon as she left the warm sanctuary of the blankets she shivered. "Fuck, it's cold!"

Workbitch clambered out after her to find their bathrobes and slippers. Arm-in-arm, they grabbed a torch and padded out of their room, shining the torch down the hallway. No one there.

_BOOMBOOMBOOMBOOM!_

"Not our door," Jennifer pointed out as they made their way towards the noise. "Coming from outside the Staff Section?" They passed by some slumbering Mochis in a nearby alcove. Mochi Nations functioned as Minis at IAHF, but at this time of the year they were not required to be on duty. The students were scheduled to arrive in a week or so, so in the meantime the Mochis (and the rest of the Staff) were enjoying a much-needed holiday.

Jennifer and Workbitch approached the entrance to the Staff Section, turning off their torches when they saw that the hallway lights were on in that section. Italian Feliciano Vargas, German Ludwig Beilschmidt, and Japanese Kiku Honda were standing with various weapons (or a white flag, in Feliciano's case), looking as if they had been there since the knocking began. They also bore signs of having stayed up watching one of Kiku's horror films or something.

"Have you opened the door to see what's there?" Jennifer asked suddenly, nearly getting stabbed by Kiku's katana for her troubles. A high-strung, sleep-deprived Japanese was a force to be reckoned with.

"Iie, I haven't," Kiku replied, bowing apologetically. "Gomen nasai, Chang-san."

"It's fine," Jennifer muttered, looking shaken nonetheless. Kiku turned his attention to his friends.

"What do you think it is?" he asked.

"I hope it's not scary, ve," Feliciano whimpered. "What if it was? What if it wants to kill us, like in Kiku's film? LUDDY, I DON'T WANNA DIE!" He bawled the last part, unexpectedly tackling Ludwig and sobbing dramatically into the German's nightshirt.

Ludwig looked suitably awkward. "Er… yeah… um, I'm not going to… make it… get to you." His left eye twitched.

"What would 'it' be?" a new voice interjected. The Course Coordinators, Mr. Allen Clarke and Mr. Hugh Fraser, had arrived. They were identical, with blond hair, thick eyebrows, blue eyes, and half-asleep expressions. Mr. Allen was wearing a _Call of Duty: Black Ops_ t-shirt; Mr. Hugh wore a nightshirt and a dressing gown and carried a three-month old baby girl in his arms. The little girl was awake; she looked torn between curiosity and fright.

"Open the door, I suppose," Mr. Allen yawned. "I wanna go back and sleep."

Ludwig approached the door.

_**BOOMBOOM! **_Before the third knock, Ludwig opened the door and two darkly-clad figures stumbled across the threshold. They were soaked from head to foot, despite the umbrella that the figure in the dress was closing. The figure in the suit with the top hat was holding some sort of trunk.

Immediately Ludwig and Kiku trained their weapons on the strangers. Workbitch and Jennifer scrambled to close the door. Mr. Allen placed himself in front of Mr. Hugh, who was holding the baby protectively. After a moment, the newcomers looked up and raised their hands in gestures of peace.

"Who are you?" Workbitch asked imperiously, striding back to his position next to Mr. Hugh as the Course Coordinators' secretary. Jennifer followed, noting the stamps on the trunk. One of them read 'DANGER: TIME-SENSITIVE MATERIAL' in silver letters.

The man removed his hat and bowed, blond moustache quivering slightly. "Sir Ernest Satow, GCMG, at your service," he replied formally.

"GCMG?" echoed Mr. Hugh. "You work for the Foreign and Commonwealth Office?"

"Former British Minister to Japan," Satow replied briskly, running a hand through his drenched blond hair. "Most remiss of you to keep a foreign dignitary and his wife out in such horrid weather."

"Yes, that was… um…" Mr. Hugh laughed sheepishly, but the laugh didn't seem to reach his eyes. Jennifer noticed that Satow seemed to have the same piercing blue eyes as the Course Coordinators.

"We're very sorry for drenching the lady," Mr. Allen cut in. "And pray tell, does the lady have a name?"

"Takeda Kane," the woman replied, smoothing out her charcoal grey dress. She had black hair tied up in a bun and bright green eyes; she surveyed Mr. Allen and Mr. Hugh haughtily. "Are the two of you twins?"

"Er… you could say that." Mr. Allen laughed. "It's actually a delightfully long story. Are the two of you on any particular sort of trip, considering you guys came out of nowhere?"

Kane and Satow looked at each other. "You could say that," Satow replied, "but our tale is just as delightfully long as yours. For the meantime, I hope it doesn't trouble you for us to impinge on your hospitality."

"Certainly not!" Mr. Hugh laughed shortly as well. "Workbitch, please show our guests to their rooms!"

No sooner had Workbitch escorted Kane and Satow down a side corridor (Kane was still clutching her umbrella; Satow was trying to carry the trunk without dropping it on his feet) did the other seven members of the G8 show up. Jennifer snickered at their sleepy faces. "Missed the party, man," she said, slinging an arm around Kriss Kross, who was yawning and leaning heavily against her girlfriend Jennifer (or Merka) Breigher.

"We heard something," yawned Merka. "What happened?"

"Visitors," Mr. Hugh snapped. "Go to bed."

"Can I go to your bed?" Charlie Tenterden asked slyly, ever the Mr. Hugh fanboy.

"Don't be ridiculous," grumbled Mr. Hugh, as Feliciano, Ludwig, and Kiku left, ostensibly to finish Kiku's film. Taylor Drews-Garcia muttered something about spoiling his beauty sleep and dragged his boyfriend Franklin Mycroft Livingston off with him.

"Come on, if that's all that happened we might as well go," Sara Parker whined, padding away with Loki Shadow Reave in tow.

"I'm sure there's more than just 'visitors'," Loki reasoned half-sleepily. "I mean, it's two in the morning… and it sounded like they had a battering ram…"

"Just… go back to your room," Mr. Allen replied, waving the students away. "You too, Miss Chang. I'm sure Work will be back in his room in a moment."

Jennifer followed the other former students. "So, Jen, tell us," Sara said as soon as they got out of the Course Coordinators' hearing ranges. "Who were the visitors?"

"A couple," Jennifer replied, stretching slightly. "Some blond, blue-eyed man and his dark-haired, green-eyed wife. They were dressed in dark colours and the guy carried a trunk that says something about time-sensitive material."

"…What." Several people said that. Jennifer shrugged.

"I don't know what it means, either," she replied. "And… where's Charlie?"

Meanwhile, Charlie had stayed behind to listen to Mr. Allen and Mr. Hugh's conversation. "You… you think they're serious?" Mr. Allen was whispering to Mr. Hugh. Mr. Hugh's little girl had fallen asleep.

"I know Satow was a diplomat; he knew people that I knew," Mr. Hugh replied, shooting a glare at Charlie. "Charlie, go to bed. Unless you can contribute to our mystery…"

"Ooh, help? You need my help?" Charlie squealed, bouncing. "I'll be glad to help!"

Mr. Hugh placed his free hand on his hip. "Do you know of a diplomat… he was one of our colleagues… named Ernest Satow?"

Charlie's eyes narrowed. "Hm… might have assigned him places once or twice…" he said thoughtfully. "Name doesn't ring that big of a bell, though."

"Ah, right." Mr. Allen smiled. "You better be off, then."

"No goodnight kiss?" whined Charlie, looking up at them with big green eyes. Mr. Allen and Mr. Hugh looked at each other exasperatedly.

"_No_," they said in unison.

"Go to bed," added Mr. Hugh. Charlie dolefully complied, sniffling as he went.

"So pathetic," sighed Mr. Allen. "You want me to take over parenting duty for Emma?" he asked suddenly. "You look like you need your sleep." Emma was the little girl that Mr. Hugh was taking care of; she had been born a Mary Sue but had also been subsequently de-Glitterified.

"I will take you up on that offer," Mr. Hugh agreed, carefully handing the slumbering Emma to Mr. Allen. "Woke me up at half-past one with a soiled diaper, and then vomited all over the bed… I'll have to change the sheets _again_…"

"You're regretting letting Mary marry Howard, aren't you?" cackled Mr. Allen. "I mean… ever since Takara died…"

A shadow passed over Mr. Hugh's face. "Did you see Satow's wife?" he asked after a moment. "Those eyes…"

"They're familiar," agreed Mr. Allen. "She looks familiar, yes. But she can't be Takara; Takara's dead and buried –"

"Don't remind me!" snapped Mr. Hugh, clapping a hand to his mouth as Emma stirred slightly. "Do you know what Emma said yesterday?"

"She talked?" echoed Mr. Allen. "First words?"

"Yes. Her first word was 'mama'. Do you know how painful that is to hear? Her mother's _dead_!"

Mr. Allen looked down at the sleeping baby. "I'm sorry, man," he said after a moment. "You need to get some sleep. Students return in a week, remember?"

Mr. Hugh nodded, looking out the window at the raging storm outside.

* * *

><p><strong>Notes:<strong> Sir Ernest Satow, PC, GCMG, and overall Victorian Weaboo (in Japan he was also known as アーネスト・サトウ), was the Official Asakiku Fanboy (aka British Minister Plenipotentiary and Envoy Extraordinary to Japan. They didn't have an Embassy back then) at an even closer-to-the-Anglo-Japanese-Alliance date than Hughie (1862-1883 and then 1895-1900). He was such a weaboo that he 1) got his name in kanji, 2) was better known in Japan than in Britain, and 3) married a Japanese chick named Takeda Kane (she was pretty, though).  
>Irony is a beautiful thing.<p> 


	2. The Two Peters

**Part II**

Time worked in funny ways between the Real World and the Multiverse. Months could go by in one without any time passing by in the other, or times could march on side-by-side with events in the Real World (henceforth dubbed World One) affecting events in the Multiverse.

Franklin Mycroft Livingston was already trying to figure it all out; his and Taylor's room was full of papers and charts, accompanied with physics and time-travel books.

"Look here," Franklin explained to Taylor Drews-Garcia on Sunday, halfway through with drawing out another timeline. "I am prepared to believe that out of the three possible scenarios – self-consistent history, flexible history, and alternate timeline – we are functioning under the alternate timeline theory."

"Alternate timelines?" echoed Taylor. "Okay, I get that the IAHF timeline is completely different from the World One timeline, but that doesn't explain –"

Franklin cut him off. "The alternate timeline theory states that there are alternate histories – alternate universes, in fanfiction terms – and that if people go back and forth in time their actions will create new alternate histories. We're in a different space as well as time, which is understandable… but…" he paused, furrowing his brows and adjusting his glasses. Taylor laughed.

"You're so busy, trying to figure out how you spent a year here without having any time pass by back home," he noted, "and then returning here from there to see that only a month or so had passed here."

"And that doesn't explain how the Staff can be affected by current events back home," agreed Franklin. "The only plausible explanation is time travel – when we step through those portals between IAHF and home, we also step back in time so it appears to all be a dream."

"And I guess that when Mr. Hugh appointed us to the G8, he somehow had us transported to IAHF in late July 2011, despite the fact that we spent nearly a year back home that would – if time at IAHF mirrored time back home –"

Taylor nodded, "That would propel the school into 2012," he agreed. "Why don't we just let it slide for now? I mean, I'm sure other people have more information on what's going on."

"Chalking it up to 'time works in funny ways' again, Tay? But I've been doing that for the past week!" Franklin stormed over to the window. Outside, the rain continued to fall, but not as violently as it had on Monday night when the strange travellers arrived. "I need explanations! If there's a problem out there, I want to solve it!"

"Some things are better left unsolved," Taylor replied, crossing over and looping his arms around his boyfriend's waist. "Unless you want them to lose their magic," he added softly.

Franklin continued to look at the raindrops against the glass.

* * *

><p>Yes, indeed time worked in unexplainable ways. Even as Franklin tried to understand the time discrepancies between IAHF and World One, a completely different boy was trying to understand the original Hetalia anime without looking at the subtitles.<p>

He failed.

A lot of people would say that the boy was pretty smart for his age – he was fifteen – considering that he was a B student in his Honours classes. He had wavy brown hair, hazel eyes, and a horrifying collection of pimples on his forehead. He needed reading glasses. He was just a garden-variety high school student.

Don't judge a book by its cover. By that same token, don't judge this boy by his cover.

"Peter!" the boy's mother screamed. "It's dinnertime! How many times do I have to tell you?"

"Coming, mum!" Peter hollered back, eyes still glued to the computer screen. 'Marukaite Chikyuu' began to play with the credits; Peter attempted to sing along.

He failed that, too.

"Peter Hawthorne, if you are not at the dinner table in two minutes –" his mother was yelling again. Peter decided that he was hungry. Yes, he was_ starving_. It had nothing to do with his mother threatening to burn his North Italy cosplay outfit. Nothing at all.

"Ve, ve! I surrender!" Peter ran downstairs and sat down at the table, across from his older brother Anthony and his younger sister Elizabeth. They both looked extremely irritated at something. Peter was pretty sure it wasn't him.

"Hurry the fuck up next time, slowpoke!" Anthony snapped. He had just come back from work, it seemed; he was a college dropout. "You know Mum doesn't let us eat until everyone's here! Are you trying to starve us?"

"Slowpoke's a Pokémon," Peter remarked randomly as he took a seat.

"We don't care about your stupid Pokey-things," Elizabeth sniffed, checking her makeup in the mirror behind Peter (despite the fact that she was only twelve). "Come on, Pete. Sit down."

Mrs. Hawthorne sighed and smiled thinly at Peter, before nodding across the table to her husband. Mr. Hawthorne looked up from his paper.

"Oh, we can eat now?" he asked absentmindedly, folding the evening paper and taking off his reading glasses.

The three Hawthorne kids looked darkly at each other. If there was one thing that they could all share, it was annoyance at their father's absentmindedness.

But their father was a writer, so they were forced to let his eccentricities slide.

"So, Lizzie," Mr. Hawthorne said as the family ate dinner, "what did you do in school today?"

"Ditched third period to go on a date with Stan Langley," replied Elizabeth nonchalantly.

"Lizzie!" Mrs. Hawthorne exclaimed.

"Oh, that's very nice," Mr. Hawthorne mumbled dreamily.

"Richard!" Mrs. Hawthorne rounded on her husband. "You consider Elizabeth ditching class to be an _achievement_?"

"She ditched class?"

Everyone else at the table groaned. Mr. Hawthorne coughed awkwardly, trying to change the subject. "Well, then, Pete, what did you do?"

"Dad, Mum's giving you the Look," Anthony drawled.

"Tony, don't be like that," Mrs. Hawthorne blustered, but she continued to glare at her husband. "Richard, you should be _disciplining_ Lizzie."

"Disciplining?" echoed Mr. Hawthorne. "You're the discipline person, Samantha, you do the honours."

Elizabeth snorted. Anthony rolled his eyes and muttered something about moving out. Peter said nothing.

After dinner, though, Peter headed up to his room. With 'Marukaite Chikyuu' blasting at full volume from his speakers (Elizabeth screamed at him once or twice to "shut the damn thing off so I can listen to Justin Bieber"), the boy opened his word processor and started writing.

It began innocently enough, with rants and rambling about how dysfunctional his family was, but soon…

Peter looked at the story he had written. He looked all around the room at the various Hetalia memorabilia that he had lovingly collected from various anime conventions. He looked at the mountain of empty Pocky boxes and Ramuné bottles. He looked at the Hungary poster that he had hung on his wall, opposite his bed. Ah, Elisabeta, with such pretty hair and eyes. Elisabeta would understand him. So would Feliciano… and Alfred… and maybe Kiku…

Well, it was no wonder why he wrote what he wrote. _The Tale of Pete Hathorn_ – most original Original Character name ever, by Peter's standards – was… well, it was a story, yes. It was a story about how Pete, the main character, mysteriously and inexplicably appears in the World Meeting Room and spirits Elisabeta Héderváry, the love of his life, off to glorious adventures in the sunset. Of course, Pete Hathorn was a buff and extremely handsome fellow, with a perfectly pimple-free face and cooler taste in clothing. He was also super suave and had Elisabeta trembling 'like a young, unsuspecting doe' at his smouldering hazel gaze.

And the sex was good, too, despite the fact that Peter had as much experience with sex as a dilapidated old tin can.

"This is going to be epic," he told himself, before looking over at the picture of Hungary again. He stared at her for a long time (mentally misinterpreting his creeper stare for a smoulder of absolute sexiness) before turning back to his computer to submit his story.

Strangely enough, the submit button wouldn't work. Click, click, click. Peter stared at the screen in disbelief, half-tempted to throw his last bottle of Ramuné at it.

"Baka!" he hissed. "Bakabakabakabakabakabakabaka!"

"Oh dear, there's a chicken loose in the house," someone remarked snidely. Peter froze. Who was that?

He slowly spun around and came face-to-face with Arthur Kirkland.

Well, it wasn't really_ just_ Arthur. It was an extremely annoyed and looking slightly harassed Arthur. Still, there was no mistaking those thick eyebrows, or those green eyes, or the slightly choppy straw-blond hair.

"Oh… konnichiwa!" Peter waved awkwardly. "O… Ogenki… desu… ka? Peter desu." Actually, that came out more like 'Con-itchy-wa', 'oh-jean-key day-sue ka', and 'Peter day-sue', but that was beside the point.

"I no spreak Wapanese," Arthur mocked, before coughing. "I speak English. You might as well speak English, too, unless you want to make my ears bleed."

"Oh, gom –" Before Peter could mangle 'gomen nasai', Arthur glared at him. Peter fell silent.

"And technically, it should be 'konbanwa', Weaboo-san, because it's evening already." Arthur tsked. "You know there is something wrong when a British gentleman like me has to correct you on your Japanese."

Peter looked very awkward. "Er… yeah. Um, I'm hallucinating, right?"

"Unfortunately, no. If you were hallucinating, you would have hallucinated…" Arthur looked over at the computer screen and then at the Hungary poster. "Oh, poor Elisabeta." He smirked. "Anyway. I am here to tell you that you have been accepted at the International Academy of Hetalia Fanfiction."

"The what of the what of Hetalia?" demanded Peter. This had got to be a dream, right? Maybe Mum put something in the dessert. Yeah, that was probably it. Mum put something in the dessert and now he was having some vivid hallucinations of Arthur Kirkland standing around in his room telling him he was accepted to some 'International Academy of Hetalia Fanfiction'. There was no way this could actually be happening to him. Only in his wildest dreams did this sort of thing ever happen to him.

"The… International… Academy… of… Hetalia… Fanfiction," Arthur ground out, sounding out the words as if Peter was a dense two-year old. Once through, the Briton took out an envelope and brandished it at the fanboy. "This letter explains it all. Fill out the forms, sign the waivers. There's no time to lose," he added in a suddenly crisp tone.

Peter took the oddly-coloured envelope and opened it, taking out the oddly-coloured forms within. "What is this colour? Crayola obviously missed it," he remarked as he started filling out the form.

"Bled, school colour. Its origins are a closely-guarded secret between Kiku and me. You better not ask, or I will force-feed you my scones." Arthur glared at him; Peter vaguely thought that if he frowned any deeper his eyebrows would collide and form a unibrow. "It's red and blue mixed in the worst possible way that doesn't quite form purple."

Peter nodded. It was all a hallucination, anyways, no matter what Arthur said. Stupid LSD-spiked desserts.

Soon, he was done and the papers were in Arthur's hand. "Okay, now what?" Peter asked, deciding to humour his hallucinations a bit longer. "Will I have to find Platform Five Metres at King's Cross or something?"

"Don't be a twat," huffed Arthur. "Just go to sleep."

"But I'm already kinda dreaming, so wouldn't I just have to wake up?"

"If you're already dreaming, then falling asleep in a dream only takes you deeper," Arthur replied shortly. "And before you know it…" he opened a portal; it flashed blue before Peter's dumbstruck eyes. "You'll have to wake up and wonder… which one was the dream, and which one was reality?"

On that enigmatic note, the Briton left the room. Peter frowned, looking at the clock. It wasn't even bedtime yet, but somehow the hallucination was suddenly making him sleepy… very sleepy…

And before he knew it, his eyes had closed.

* * *

><p>"Are these the last forms?" Ludwig asked, patting the inbox in the Customs office. A different Peter – Peter Kirkland – looked up from where he was approving some girl named Nanise East's form.<p>

"I think Jerkland still has to turn in his bunch," the Sealander replied, shrugging.

"Any people after me this year?" Ludwig continued, as Ldwig and Veniciano bounced into the room – well, Ldwig sort-of bounced. He was blockier than the other Mochis, since he _was_ German, after all.

"So far, no." Peter looked thoughtfully at the papers. "Aha, I like these kids. A lot of them hate Jerkland!"

Ludwig rolled his eyes. "All right, any… Special People?"

"What's a kitsune hanyou?" Peter asked.

"…I haven't the slightest. Maybe Kiku knows." Ludwig patted Veniciano. "Do you want me to get him for you?"

"Nah, I'll handle it! I'm a big Nation, you know!"

Ludwig didn't want to say anything to that. Peter continued to read the forms. His face suddenly paled.

"I know that look!" Ludwig gasped. "Arthur gets that look on his face every time someone mentions the League of Extraordinary Anglophiles!" He paused. "You have a fangirl!"

Peter nodded numbly, pointing to the form. "Look… look, Ludwig… I want my parents!" The six-year-old started bawling. "GET ME MY PARENTS!"

"Your parents?" Ludwig wondered who his parents could be, and why Peter was calling for them if he was a 'big Nation'.

"What's this?" Finnish Tino Väinämöinen appeared. "Peter! What's wrong?"

"Wait… you're his parent?" Ludwig demanded. "Where in the canon was this?"

"W'r' 'd'pt'v' p'r'nts," Swede Berwald Øxenstierna replied, shuffling into the room. As Tino comforted the sobbing Peter, Berwald looked at the form. He crumpled the form slightly.

Ludwig was an intimidating fellow – one of the manliest Nations in the cast, even. Even he felt intimidated by Berwald's horrifying Glare of Doom™, when the incensed Swede looked up from the paper.

"How bad is it?" Tino asked hesitantly.

"Th's f'ng'rl… 'f sh' g's n'r P't'r…" Berwald sent another Glare of Doom™ at the paper. "Sh' w'll p'y."


	3. Welcome to Hell

**Part III**

"Pass up your reports, please, on the status of the dormitories, the cafeteria, and the supplies," Mr. Allen stated as he looked down the meeting table at the members of the Group of Eight. The ex-students looked at each other; Jennifer, Sara, Taylor, and Charlie pulled out their folders and passed them up.

"Girls' dorms are fine," Sara said. "The water's running and the electricity's working, and I think Feliks will be taking a look at the heating and air conditioning systems later this week."

"I thought Feliks was a _plumber_," Taylor remarked.

"He's a man of many talents; who'd have known?" Merka snickered. "Anyway, Kitty and Anita didn't move their chart; it's still in their dorm room."

"We'll have to take that into our custody," cackled Loki.

"I don't want to know about that," Mr. Allen warned, as Mr. Hugh entered the room, closing the door quietly behind him. "Hughie! You're late!" Mr. Allen beamed at his startled alter-ego.

"Just got Emma to take her morning nap. Mary's monitoring her," Mr. Hugh replied, smiling sheepishly. Mary Crawford, Mr. Hugh's historical wife, was now married to Howard the Spy.

"She's already back from her honeymoon on That Damn Island?" Mr. Allen asked, raising both eyebrows.

"Came back this morning," said Mr. Hugh, nodding.

"Wonderful timing." Mr. Allen clapped his hands. "The students are scheduled to arrive at noon, and it is currently eleven-thirty. We have half an hour left; quickly brief us on the state of the Student Section and supplies."

"The supply plothole brought in a shipment; I included the inventories in my report," Jennifer said immediately. "At a glance, it seems that we have enough whipped cream, chocolate, tuna, and tea to last us until the next shipment. We also have a surplus of turnips."

"We might need them, if the Bled Pinjas' plots ever get off the drawing board," Mr. Hugh pointed out. "What about the kitchen supplies?"

"Both Staff and student kitchens are well-stocked, with extra cookie-making supplies in the student kitchen," Kriss replied, "I heard Karen Elaine DuLay might pop in from time to time –"

"You're in contact with her?" the other seven students demanded.

"It was by accident," Kriss sighed. "She's doing something with the _Avatar: The Last Airbender_ fandom."

Mr. Allen coughed. "Moving on, then. Cafeteria meal schedules are planned, I presume?"

"Mustamakkara à la Mary Sue tonight," Franklin reported, "and the rest of the meal plans are in Taylor's folder. We have placed guesses about the food fights; who knows what will happen in actuality."

"And the boys' dorms?" Mr. Hugh finished, looking over at Charlie. Charlie flashed him a grin.

"Perfect condition, your Excellency-In-Bed," he replied, causing the others to snicker. Mr. Hugh looked unamused.

"You are sure of that?" he asked suspiciously, eyes narrowing.

"Everything's working, and we've fireproofed Andy Kirk's room," Loki answered, shrugging. "You've done the dorm assignments already?"

"Certainly." Mr. Allen drew out a list with a flourish. "We will be following the third semester schedule. Same classes, same teachers. Seminars will be scheduled as they are created…" he looked over at the clock. "Ten minutes left. Any suggestions or questions?"

"Oh, yeah," Merka said, raising her hand. "Now that we, the first semester students, have graduated… wouldn't that mess with the naming order?"

Mr. Hugh nodded. "Yes, and we've already thought about that. See, there's a bit of a change on the schedules… the naming order's been reversed. The students in their third semester will be referred to as the third semester students, not the second semester students."

"I wanted to call them 'newbies', 'middlebies', and 'oldbies'," sniffed Mr. Allen. "But then Hughie pointed out that that would make you lot 'ancientbies'."

"Or 'fossils', whichever one appeals more to you," Mr. Hugh deadpanned. "Any other concerns? None? Right, then, this meeting is adjourned. We need to report to the Orientation Hall –"

He had barely finished that sentence when the meeting room doors banged open and Endland and Aurthor bounced in with a familiar-looking fangirl in tow.

"Yuki-rin!" exclaimed Taylor, springing up from his seat in surprise. "How… what… why are you here?"

"This wee lil' lass 'd been found stowin' away on me ship," Pirate Arthur Kirkland snapped as he stormed in.

"Yuki-rin Øxenstierna, what were you doing on Pirate Arthur's ship?" Mr. Hugh demanded.

"I didn't want to leave!" Yuki-rin bawled. "Lemme stay here and be an assistant to someone. I don't wanna go home!"

Mr. Hugh stared. Mr. Allen facepalmed. Pirate Arthur shrugged.

"Ye can be me assistant, I suppose," the swashbuckling Briton suggested. "'S long as I dun hear anythin' 'bout ye tacklin' Berwald or summonin' _One Piece_ characters…"

"You'll let me join your crew? Spiffy!" Yuki-rin clapped her hands. "Thank you so much!"

"Dun' think on it," Pirate Arthur sniffed, leaving the room. "Report to me ship after th' Orientation, ye hear that?"

Mr. Allen coughed. "To the Orientation Hall, then?" he asked, opening the door. "Another year of Learning Through Pain beckons."

* * *

><p>Peter Hawthorne was going to have some words with his mother about last night's dessert. This wasn't happening. This definitely should not be happening.<p>

When he awoke, he found himself on the edge of a lake; across the lake stood a strange-looking school. It looked as if the World Academy W, the Nations' Meeting Place, and the United Nations Headquarters had a drunken party one night, with one thing leading to another and the result being the school building that he was looking at. A circle of flags stood a little ways outside what could probably be the main building; in the centre was a giant George Washington-shaped sign.

"That's the Wasignton," someone was saying a little ways away. He was a tall, stocky boy with brown hair and a bored expression; he was talking to a girl who could probably be his sister. "It was created by a Mary Sue last year."

"Cool, and where are the Mochis?" the girl demanded.

"They usually come a little later," the boy replied, "after the announcement for us to report to the Orientation Hall."

Nearby, a girl was flapping about with giant wings, looking rather put off that she couldn't fly with them. "Why the hell can you fly?" she demanded, glaring at another boy who had wings but was in the air, smirking. Peter could practically smell the Holier Than Thou emanating from his figure.

"I'm an Angel. Did you say you were an Angel?" the boy drawled, grinning obnoxiously.

"I'm a winged person from Maximum Ride," the girl replied sullenly. "I'm not an Angel, but I have wings –"

"Obviously your wings can't support your body weight," a girl in a Prussian blue trench coat sneered. "They seem proportional enough; maybe you should try some _wing exercises_ or something."

Peter looked around at everyone. There were several very odd students, like that one... creature... that looked as if the I Can Has Cheezeburger Cat had trashed a paint factory... and the anthropomorphic teddy bear... not to mention the cat-girl that kept on falling asleep every five minutes or so...

"This is the oddest dream I have ever had," Peter declared, and the girl next to him snorted.

"Yeah, that's what I thought, too," she replied. She had short blond hair, freckles, and an amazing amount of attitude in her voice. "Apparently this is some sort of 'Fanfiction University' for Hetalia where they take a bunch of weaboos and freaks and stuff and make them learn how to write good fanfiction. I don't get why I'm in here; I _obviously_ write good stuff."

Peter nodded. "Y-yeah. I write good stories... too..." he laughed weakly. "What's... uh... your name?"

"I'm Ursula Klevin," the girl said arrogantly. "And you are?"

"P-Peter Hawthorne," Peter stammered. Oh mein Gott, a girl was _talking_ to him!

"Nice to meet you, P-Peter Hawthorne," she mocked.

Never mind, then. Peter knew he wouldn't like Ursula very much. She seemed too arrogant for his tastes.

But then again, Peter had shown up at IAHF wearing a t-shirt with Hungary's face all over it, coupled with jeans and an orange sweatshirt. His taste was probably the first thing people would question anyway. But before he could make a witty retort (he wasn't quite sure how witty retorts worked, but they seemed easy enough to do), someone announced over the loudspeakers that they were to report to the Orientation Hall, 'under pain of blobbing'. The returning students (like the first boy) seemed to understand what 'blobbing' was, and ran like heck.

Peter wondered why. The Mochis appeared from not too far away, glaring at them threateningly. Most of the new students took that as a sign to run as if Ivan was after them.

But the Mochis seemed harmless... they were only about how big? A foot? And they were cute! How could blobbing be such a horrible thing, when the blobber was so 'kawaii desu'?

Even as Peter thought that, his thoughts were very soundly debunked. With an almighty squelching noise, one of the Hungarian Mochis expanded to at least ten times her original size and latched onto him, coating him in a disgustingly sticky cocoon of crème and rice paste.

Ew. Ew, ew, ew, ew, ew. Blobbing was disgusting. Peter regretted not running away while he still had the chance.

* * *

><p>"To our new students, welcome to the International Academy of Hetalia Fanfiction. To our older students, welcome back to Hell." As Peter straggled into the Orientation Hall (formerly dubbed the General Meeting Room, until the Nations decided that a smaller General Meeting Room would just as easily suffice for their meetings and therefore relocated into the Staff Section), the first thing he noticed was that there were two men at the podium who looked exactly the same.<p>

The next thing he noticed was that bits of this particular Hungarian Mochi (Hungry, the notoriously hungry Mochi) were still stuck in his ears and to his shirt. He started plucking at the white bits, grimacing as he did so.

"Ah, seems like we have a straggler." Damn, one of the men had noticed his late arrival. "Mr. Whatever-Your-Name-Is, were you not aware that being late is decidedly unfashionable at IAHF?"

"Er... I'm sorry?" Peter offered weakly.

"Tsk, tsk. We haven't even finished the orientation and you already have a detention. You must have broken a record."

Peter slouched in his chair. That was insanely unfair! He was just a _little_ late, since he had to get Hungry off him first!

"Anyway," continued the man who had just assigned him detention, "as you can see, some of us have already met our _wonderful_ Mochi Nations. Might I remind you that you are never to give a Mochi any excuse to hurt you? That is for your own safety, you know. Please don't say I didn't warn you if you end up being traumatised by one of our Mochis." He paused. "By the way, if we ever find the brat who created Mochie the Giant Mochi..." he trailed off threateningly.

"You see?" one of the older students whispered in the seat behind Peter's. "That's obviously Mr. Allen. He's ten times meaner than Mr. Hugh."

"How can you be certain? Mr. Hugh hasn't said anything yet," someone whispered back.

"Silence, please!" The other man was talking now; he had a distinctive British accent. "It seems that my alter-ego forgot to introduce us. I am Mr. Hugh Fraser; he is Mr. Allen Clarke. We are the Course Coordinators here. I handle anything that has to do with academics or involves paperwork; he is in control of discipline and will not hesitate to make sure that you students do not break the rules at IAHF."

"Yes, the rules," agreed Mr. Allen. "Failure to follow these basic policies will result in pain. It's your choice. Rule number one: no glomping the canon characters."

"In light of recent circumstances," added Mr. Hugh, "we have extended that to 'no glomping anyone on the Staff'. That includes Mr. Allen and myself."

"Rule number two," continued Mr. Allen. "Absolutely no stampeding the canon characters or anyone else on the Staff. For your information, stampeding is noisy, ineffective, and usually ends with the stampeders falling down convenient crevices."

"Rule number three: no writing fanfiction unless instructed to do so by the Staff," Mr. Hugh said.

"In light of complaints from previous students, we have allowed for your laptops and smart phones to work this year. However, Internet access is only available to students in the cafeteria, the library, and the classrooms. There is no wi-fi in the dorms, remember that. If you are caught stealing wi-fi, hacking into the Staff networks, or perpetrating any other form of cyber crime, you _will_ be subject to discipline," Mr. Allen added.

"There's another difference," whispered the student behind Peter. "Mr. Allen's more technologically savvy than Mr. Hugh."

"We would also like to make a note about…" Mr. Hugh squinted at the paper. "eh-Pods."

"They're_ iPods_, Hughie," Mr. Allen groaned.

"Yeah, what he said." Mr. Hugh pouted. "Previous students – and by previous students, we mean the alumni that make up the IAHF Group of Eight – have complained to Peter Kirkland about the blatant misinterpretation of the terms 'iPod' and 'MP3 player'. These misinterpretations have been rectified, but if we catch you listening to those… thingies… in class, they will be confiscated for the rest of the semester and you will earn time in the Mochi Concentration Camps."

"They've gotten meaner," whistled the student behind Peter.

"Moving on," Mr. Allen continued. "Rule number four: ABSOLUTELY NO SNEAKING INTO THE STAFF SECTION." He paused. "I don't know how to make it any clearer. The Staff Section is a section for the Staff _only_. Students are allowed in only if they have a pass or they are with a Staff member. IAHF alumni do not have the authority to bring guests with them into the Staff Section, so don't bother bribing the G8 or Miss Yuki-rin. The Mochis by now have recognised practically every ploy used to get into the Staff Section. Don't even _think_ about it."

As fine and threatening as that may sound, Mr. Allen seemed to have seriously underestimated a fangirl's will. And when there's a will, there's a way. Or a Mochi blocking said way, but that was tangential.

"Based on our disastrous incidents last year with the timetables and maps," finished Mr. Hugh, "Mr. Kirkland has soundly refused to repeat those incidents again. Instead, Mr. Antonio Carriedo will be handing out those materials. Antonio, if you will?"

From behind a screened-off portion of the platform strode a man with curly brown hair, green eyes, and a perky arse. He was surrounded by Mochis of all nationalities; he carried stacks of papers in his hands. The 'Me Encanta España' group – Antonio's fangirls – screamed and attempted to storm the podium, but Vash Zwingli stomped out from behind the partition as well with a rifle and loads of ammunition.

Everyone took that as a good sign to halt the stampede.

* * *

><p>After the Orientation, Mr. Hugh sighed in relief as Mr. Allen turned off their microphones. "Finally, an Orientation without any serious hitches," he sighed.<p>

"The current third semester students weren't that problematic," Mr. Allen replied. "Barring that one chick who broke the windows with her squealing when Arthur appeared…"

"Rinaldia the Vocaloid?" Mr. Hugh asked. Mr. Allen nodded. "Oh, yes, I remember that."

A portal suddenly opened on the stage. Out stumbled four figures – one was a Tolkienverse _elleth_ and the other three were human. They were all armed to the teeth and dressed in black.

"Karen!" several voices cried as Karen Elaine DuLay straightened up and waved sheepishly at the students. Ludwig Beilschmidt was one of them, and he took cover behind Feliciano (the Italian looked extremely confused). Aloisio Guerra was another; he half-stumbled, half-flew towards the podium only to get knocked out by Herdevery.

"Kitty!" Jennifer recognised Herdevery's owner, a girl named Kitty Smith. She had been a notorious gossip at IAHF; she was responsible for the infamous chart now hanging in Loki and Sara's room in the Staff Section.

"Eledhwen and Christianne, welcome back." Mr. Hugh shook the other two figures' hands. "New recruits from our ranks, I see."

"They're only part-time until they get Permission," Agent Christianne Shieh, GCMG, said with a shrug.

"Karen's heading the Official Fanfiction University of Avatar: The Last Airbender," Agent Eledhwen Elerossiel, GCMG, added. "She told us that she had been so inundated with work that she had to _beg _the Staff to let her visit IAHF for three days."

GCMG stood for 'Grand Cross, Mochi Group', but most users of the post-nominal preferred 'God Calls Me God'. It was the highest class one could receive in the IAHF order of chivalry, the Order of the Mochi.

"No bad news on the League of Mary Sue Factories, I hope," Mr. Allen pitched in, as the G8, Yuki-rin, Kitty, and Karen reunited with much hugging and retelling of amusing anecdotes.

"Not _yet_," agreed Eledhwen ominously.

Meanwhile, in the crowd, Lucas Arch looked up from his timetables to see a familiar figure on the stage. The Angel stood up in surprise.

"What is it?" his brother Archangel Michael asked. Cain Harren, yet another Angel, snickered from next to him.

"More like 'who is it', and the answer is 'Karen'," Cain replied, jabbing a finger at Karen. "You'd think that Lucas had never been in love before, with the way he acted all summer."

"That was embarrassing," agreed Michael. But Lucas paid no attention to his companions' conversation, since Karen had spotted him as well and was waving madly at him. Lucas walked up to the stage; she leapt down and hugged him tightly.

"I missed you, Luke!" Karen laughed, poking his halo amusedly. "How are you, my Angel?"

"I'm fine," Lucas replied. "And what about yourself, my little sinner? Still coveting Ludwig?"

"Hey!" Karen pouted. "I'm heading an OFU now! You can't tease me like that!" She paused for a few seconds. "But I'm on longer leave than Kitty, Eledhwen, and Christianne, so we've got three days to catch up, all right?"

"Only three days? I spent a summer missing you. Archangel Gabriel yelled at me for keeping your picture; he thought you were some sort of religious icon or something."

Karen snorted. "And what did _God_ say about it?"

"Dunno. His son found it funny, though. I don't see what's amusing – no, seriously!" Lucas looked slightly frantic, since Karen had burst into laughter. "What's so funny about all of this?"

"Well, you know a relationship is good if it's Jesus-approved," snickered Karen.

"What's the old superstar been doing?" Loki Shadow Reave had overheard.

"None of your business, Loki," Lucas called back, as Karen waved to Alice Wang.

* * *

><p>Peter Hawthorne consulted his map, trying to figure out how to get from the Orientation Hall to the boys' dorms. Considering many students had started leaving by now, it wasn't too hard to find the right corridors.<p>

He soon found himself walking with the girl he had seen talking to the brunet boy earlier. She had brown hair and wore glasses, and she seemed a lot friendlier than Ursula Klevins. "Hey," she said, smiling slightly. "What's your name?"

"Peter Hawthorne," Peter replied, mentally reminding himself not to stutter.

"I'm Lila Kirk," the girl said matter-of-factly. "My older brother's graduating this year. He's Andy Kirk."

"Never heard of him," Peter mumbled.

"Oh, yeah, you must be a newbie, then! Just like me!" Lila grinned. "My brother's told me a lot about this school and the students, so I know a bit more about IAHF than other newbies. See that girl over there? That's Faye Markus. Don't go near her. And don't go near her boyfriend-slash-fuckbuddy, either." She pointed to a boy who looked more like a weightlifter on steroids. "That's Mighty Major J. He apparently assaulted someone last semester, and he's still serving his sentence."

"What was his sentence?" Peter echoed.

"Therapy with the Rome-Wall," snickered Lila, looking around. "Ah, and there's the League of Extraordinary Anglophiles, Arthur's fan club."

"Is there a Hungary fanclub?" Peter asked eagerly.

"Dunno. If there is, my brother didn't hear about it. Ooh, there's some USUKers. They call themselves the Special Relationshippers."

"Do they ever clash with other people?"

"Duh! Always with the FrUKers, sometimes with the Asakiku fangirls, and sometimes with the SpUK and PrUKers… I don't know if there are any Asakiku fangirls left; I think they all graduated last semester."

"What else?" They were nearing the cafeteria now; Peter looked at his map. Exit the building with the cafeteria, and he should be at the dorms. Perfect.

"There are the GerIta fangirls, the Spamano Shippers… I think that there's some sort of unwritten rule around here – if it's a ship, there's a faction for it here. Same goes with characters." They passed by Gillyflower Caulfray, the anthropomorphic teddy bear. "Gillyflower's a phooka, but she got mistaken for Pooky by the Customs office. Sealand does customs. Anyone who's not a human can join the Special People group, but the Angels and Demons have their own factions anyways. Yeah, it's a messed-up place."

"Your brother seems to know a lot."

"Yup. I heard he's with someone on the G8, but I don't know exactly."

The two stopped at the fork in the path before the girls' dorms and boys' dorms. "See you at dinner?" Peter suggested. Lila shrugged and smiled.

When Peter entered his room, he saw a friendly-looking boy with blond hair and complete heterochromia iridium – one eye was blue and the other was green. "Hey!" he said cordially, shaking Peter's hand. "The name's Stanley South. We'll be roommates, yeah?"

"Y-yeah," Peter stammered. "I'm Peter Hawthorne. Nice to meet you."

"Oh, yeah. I heard they assign dorm partners based on incompatibility, but you seem nice enough so I suppose they don't do that_ all _the time. Do you know what's for dinner?"

Peter shrugged. "Dunno. Do you know anything about the school?" Best to get informed about what's going on, right?

"Nicole Heather North doesn't really say a lot, but I hear that there are some really cute things around here, like the Fluffy Mint Bunnies and the Chibi Nations – and some of the girls aren't too bad, I suppose. Faye Markus is hot, but she's a total douche according to… like, everyone I asked."

"Lila Kirk says to stay away from her."

"I'd think so; I overheard Faye screaming at Aida Hor for being a freak."

Peter grimaced. "That's… awful. Are there any sort of… intellectual groups around here?" Maybe he could join, since he was oh-so-knowledgeable about Japanese culture!

"There's a Nerd Group," Stanley said, looking around before dropping his voice to a whisper. "They're like, a _really _selective club. Not just anyone can get in – you have to be obsessed with history and stuff. You have to like, read the school paper, keep up to date with current events, debate with other members, and spout information like some walking encyclopaedia. And you have to pass their entrance exam." He paused. "I think they're gonna start hazing everyone who wants to join."

"Seriously?" Maybe the Nerd Group wasn't such a good idea after all. There was something extremely ironic about nerds hazing everyone else. Heck, there was something extremely ironic about nerds having the most prestigious club on campus.

"Yeah! I heard Nanise talking about it; she heard about it from Mariam Webb who heard about it from Erika Verena von Richtofen-Marlowe, and Erika's in the Nerd Group. Apparently there's an exam, and then a debate, and then they assign you a list of books to read and you'd have to go to the library, check out all of those books, and read them within a week. And it's not just any book – it's stuff written by Churchill, Shakespeare, Nietzsche, and Freud… and stuff like that."

Peter shuddered, but Stanley kept on talking.

"And you can't just read the book; you have to analyse the book and stuff. Doesn't that sound scary? But apparently you'd have to know all that stuff if you want to keep up with the conversations. Man, I'm never joining that group. Sounds scary."

"T-tell me about it," agreed Peter, but part of him still wanted to join. Hey, people said he was pretty smart for fifteen, right? He could probably do it! Yeah, probably!

And then at dinner he saw the group. They seemed to be an intimidating lot, especially with the intimidating amount of books that each member was carrying.

Shit, he had a _lot_ of reading to do…


	4. Memoirs of the Twentieth Century

**Notes:** By all means, keep the students coming in! I don't know when the deadline is. You're welcome to send in multiples, but I may draw the line at three or so if people end up sending me a billion.  
>Selfcest is best, <strong>Shadow Mignonne<strong>. In case you're not aware, I am a rabid Allen/Hugh/Allen fangirl.  
>Just a big warning: the lag starts here. I'm preparing to retake the SAT and going to portfolio art classes, so I won't have the time to update at all unless something strikes me during July at CSSSA. I have a gist of what I want to do for the plot, but not much about how I'm going to do it.<p>

* * *

><p><strong>Part IV<strong>

On the table in the middle of the room lay a trunk. At first glance, it seemed harmless enough – an old, weathered trunk plastered with stickers and stamps was often harmless, after all – but on second glance, any observer would have to be blind not to see the prominent, silvery stamp across the front.

DANGER: TIME-SENSITIVE MATERIAL.

Sir Ernest Satow, GCMG (a different GCMG, mind you), took out a key and eyed the trunk warily. Across the table, his wife Takeda Kane donned a set of goggles.

"How do we fix this thing again?" she asked as he put on his goggles and started unlocking the trunk. It was a complicated locking mechanism – the key that Satow was using had to go in at a precise angle. That would open up to reveal a combination lock. Any tampering with the lock would cause instantaneous jamming, which in turn would make the device stop working.

"Let me try to _open_ it, darling," Satow muttered, adding some choice Japanese curse words under his breath as he continued to fumble with the key. Kane giggled, hiding her smile behind her hand.

After a moment, the diplomat had unlocked the case. "That was worse than trying to decipher a dispatch," he complained, flinging down the key and grabbing his wrench. "Now… where was this thing broken?"

Kane shrugged. "All I know is that it's broken, because we're here."

"Yes, I know." Satow knelt down and undid a couple of bolts. "Hm… if the clock itself is damaged, this may take longer than expected."

"Perhaps you ought to find a mechanic," Kane suggested.

"I can handle this! It's not like they'll understand how this thing works, anyways!"

"How can you be sure?" Kane watched her husband tinker around with the contents of the trunk. "I mean, I don't think you understand how it works, either."

"It's a clock, isn't it? The clock broke down, and we ended up here. If the clock breaks down, you fix it. Once it starts working, we'll be home again. Simple logic," Satow remarked, grimacing as he continued to dismantle the clock.

"I'm sure they have an expert watchmaker around here," Kane replied. "I mean, that man we saw earlier with the shotgun … wasn't he Swiss? They're good with clocks and watches, aren't they?"

"Shush, dear. The less people we have in on the secret, the easier." Satow looked at the various cogs and bolts, groaning audibly. "Wonderful," he sighed. "Bloody _wonderful_."

* * *

><p>Worst. Tuesday. Ever.<p>

Those three words were the only things running through Peter's mind as he ran around the track in the stadium. According to previous students, the stadium had supported a giant hedge maze last semester, but most of the maze had been damaged in an attack by a Mary Sue factory. Therefore, the maze had been dismantled. Several of the older students seemed to be disappointed; they had obviously wanted to go through the maze.

"Maybe they've just moved it to a different part of the school, since American Football season_ is_ coming up," Peter overheard Jillian the Pikachu say as she ran by with Didi. "I hope they kept the maze, though! It looks like fun!"

"Did you hear about Obama's visit to the UK in June?" Nick Jenkins was asking Korah Lyons eagerly as they jogged past Peter as well. "Every other speech reaffirmed the Special Relationship! And they flipped burgers together!"

"_Oh my gosh_, they flipped burgers together. Twoo wub forever," mocked Ever Li as she ran past with the FrUKers

"David Cameron seemed really eager to please him, though," Wake Charlton-Cunningham-Will-Jeff-Riley-Parkson III added eagerly, roflcoptering along with the USUKers. Apparently to 'roflcopter' was to twirl one's ears and tail about in a way that mimicked a helicopter, and Wake could pull it off with her I Can Has Cheezburger Cat appearance. "Didja see that high-five at the ping-pong table? I lol'd."

"You have to admit, though, the UK and the US have such a hilarious relationship right now," cackled Violet-Hime. "That one time when the US said that they had no better ally than France and then sent Churchill's bust back? _Burrrrrn_. I heard some people got really pissed back in the UK. It's like they're desperate."

"Iggy's a desperate fella," Wake snickered. "Did you read that one _Daily Telegraph_ blog post that was so Arthur, what with the whole 'crazy spurned schoolgirl crushing on the school heartthrob' spiel?"

"Lemme guess, you lol'd your way through it," Nick said, grinning. "Whaddya know! I liked that post."

"You know," Rain Kayheart said loudly, "I find it sad that barely anyone in the US mentioned Angela Merkel visiting Washington in June. It's like Ludwig doesn't mean anything to Alfred."

Speak of the devil and the devil shall appear. "SILENCE!" Ludwig Beilschmidt called from the stands. "If you are talking, you obviously are not running fast enough. RUN!"

By the time Peter entered the cafeteria, he was on the verge of passing out from exhaustion. "Class starts in about an hour," gasped the Writer before turning himself into a badger for no apparent reason. "Hopefully… I… won't… pass out…"

"We've got Kiku teaching us," Melissa N. Rohart mumbled. "I pity the newbies; they have to have Ludwig as their teacher."

"We've got Feli!" cheered Mariam Webb. "He's so hot!"

Most people were too tired to express their opinions about Feliciano's hotness. Peter didn't really give a damn. He was too busy looking forward to Friday – Elisabeta would be teaching Geography on Friday. His darling Elisabeta…

On that happy thought, Peter passed out from exhaustion at the Europe table. No one woke him until all of the food had been eaten.

* * *

><p>"Whatcha reading?" Alfred F. Jones demanded, leaning against the armchair trying to read a book over Arthur Kirkland's shoulder. The Briton grunted and turned the page.<p>

"_Memoirs of the Twentieth Century_," he replied. "It was written in 1733 by Samuel Madden."

"Wow, must be boring – wait a sec, _twentieth_ century?" Alfred squinted. "But… but, but they don't mention me!"

"Exactly. You were only a colony when this was written. Deal with it."

"That means they've gotten everything wrong! I should be in it! It's set in 1997!"

Arthur smacked him with the book. "Of course everything's wrong. Look – these letters are supposed to be diplomatic dispatches to George VI, who was most decidedly not around in 1997 since he died in 1952! This George VI doesn't seem to have a stutter – in fact, he rules over an expansive British Empire –"

"And you were on the decline by that time," agreed Alfred, snickering. Arthur hit him with the book again. "Wow, almost three centuries into the future… you'd think he would have thought of better communication methods than couriers."

"Reading that again?" Francis Bonnefois sniffed as he entered the room and took a seat across from him. "I heard that book alone spawned several Mochis. Turky, for one…" At that, a Turkish Mochi popped up next to Alfred, glaring.

"What's with the emphasis on agriculture in their colleges?" Alfred demanded. "And _that_'s where Mosco comes from! Only… it looks like 'Mofco'. Every other word looks like it has an f in it."

"I fhall ufe my beft diligence to give the earlieft intelligence, and in the meantime fhall act as my prefent lights fhall direct me," snickered Francis. Arthur closed the book and hurled it at him.

"Shut up. You're just sore that you didn't write anything about time travel until 1861," the Briton grumped.

"What sort of book is it supposed to be anyways?" Francis drawled. "It's just a bunch of boring, inaccurate letters that some crackheaded Angel decided to send back to 1728 so he could fuck with everyone's minds."

Arthur glared. "I still find it intriguing, the whole concept of time travel. It started in ancient Hindu mythology, you know, with King Revaita travelling to a different world only to find that ages have passed in his own world when he returns."

"Sounds like your C.S. Lewis's Narnia," snickered Alfred.

"Sounds like our school," Francis countered.

The door opened once more as Kiku Honda entered with a tray of tea. "The chrysanthemums will be blooming soon," he said by way of greeting. "Here, I just made some tea." Bowing, the Japanese offered Arthur a cup.

"Arigatou, Kiku, you know I love your tea," Arthur said with a grin, taking the cup.

"N-no problem, Arthur-san," Kiku replied demurely. "Would Francis-san and Alfred-san like some tea, too?"

"Oh _hell_ no, tea's too tasteless," Alfred dismissed. "Coffee all the way!"

"Once again, you prove yourself to be the tasteless one," Arthur grumped.

"Says you," Francis remarked, but he took a cup as well. "Merci, Kiku."

The Japanese took a seat across the coffee table from Arthur, observing them over the rim of his own cup. "I heard something about time travel," he said conversationally.

"Oh, yeah, we were talking about going back in time and stuff!" Alfred enthused. "Wouldn't that be awesome? I bet that way we can make the history lessons really sink in with the students. Anachronisms are so annoying!"

"Says you," Francis repeated. "Didn't you have a laptop once in a World War Two strip?"

"Shut up! I was the hero and I needed instructions on how to get from the United States to Great Britain!"

"Yeah, by swimming across the Atlantic Ocean," grumbled Arthur.

"The strange thing is," Kiku pointed out, "most early time travel stories feature someone who returns home to find that a significant amount of time has passed, and therefore everything has changed. Like in my story 'Urashima Taro' –"

"The one about the fisherman?" Arthur asked. "I think I've read it once. It's so sad…"

"Yes, it is a tragedy," agreed Kiku as he got up, "returning to your loved ones only to see that time has separated you from them – it's a tragedy common to Nations." He headed out the door, ostensibly to return the tray and go to his classroom. The student should be reporting to Canon 101 by now.

"The heaviest price, too." Francis got up as well and walked to the window, looking out. "At least Jeanne has returned to me."

Arthur said nothing, reaching for his book and immersing himself within its pages once more.

* * *

><p>Mr. Hugh entered his room to see Charlie Tenterden and Mary Crawford sitting by a mat, where little Emma was rolling around making happy baby noises. Smiling, the Course Coordinator closed the door and knelt down by his daughter's side.<p>

"You look like a penitent at the altar," snickered Mary. Mr. Hugh laughed shortly, reaching out to pick Emma up, holding her close. Oxytocin was well and flowing, it seemed.

"How is she?" he asked.

"Excellent, as always," Mary said, her blue eyes shining bittersweetly as she ran a hand through her blonde hair. Two stray curls stuck out of her hair; they echoed the Vargas curls.

"Why is Charlie here?"

"Why _can't_ I be here?" Charlie whined.

"It's my room – and you'll corrupt Emma!"

Charlie pouted. "No, I won't! I swear, that incident last time was an accident! An ACCIDENT!"

"Don't make me laugh! If you ever read those sorts of stories to my daughter again, I swear –"

"Hughie!" Mary exclaimed. "What is going on? What is this incident that the two of you are arguing about?"

"Charlie read smut to Emma!"

"I thought they were _children's stories_! It said so on the cover!"

"Don't judge a book by its cover," Mary remarked sagely. "Judge it by its summary."

"Still! The summary said they were cute children's stories!"

"Were they the stories featured in Monty Python?"

"…I think so… since there was that one with the melon…"

Mr. Hugh groaned. "Oh good lord, Charlie. Maybe you should_ read_ the books before reading them to my daughter. If I catch you reading Monty Python's 'children's stories' to Emma ever again, you _will_ regret it."

The door to the room slammed open at that moment. In came Shinbun-kun, the editor and chief reporter at the _Bled Chronicles_, the school paper. "The visitors need Mr. Allen's help, sir, do you know where he is?" he asked, tipping his cap at Mary.

"He should be in Ludwig's Canon 101 class." Mr. Hugh said, just as Emma started crying for a bottle. "Okay, okay, Ems, I will get you your bottle… don't cry…"

Shinbun-kun raced out the Staff Section, heading towards Ludwig's Canon 101 classroom. The German was giving a loud lecture on why Hetalia fans had to do historical research. It felt more like a rant than a lecture, though, and the students cowering in fear showed that perfectly. Mr. Allen sat in the back with several German Mochis, smirking at the students.

"Has anyone here ever seen a political cartoon? Or read a satirical news article? Why are those things so funny?" Ludwig was demanding as Shinbun sidled into the room.

"Is that a rhetorical question?" Brigid Hughes demanded.

"Nein, answer me," snapped Ludwig.

Brigid frowned. "Well, sometimes people think political cartoons are strange and incomprehensible because they don't understand the issue being made fun of. The reason why they're funny is because they address issues in a way that requires people to understand the issue to understand the joke. It's that whole thing with inside jokes – it's only funny if you understand the context."

"Precisely. A lot of our canon derives its humour from historical and current events, cultural quirks, and stereotypes. THIS IS THE REASON WHY A SOLID GROUNDING IN HISTORY IS ESSENTIAL TO UNDERSTANDING HOW TO WRITE GOOD HETALIA FANFICTION! Most of the time, bad Hetalia fanfiction comes from ignorance – ignorance to a Nation's culture, history, and current events. When reading a bad Hetalia fanfic, people will feel insulted by the author's ignorance of the issues featured. Unless you are Himaruya, please try not to write crack for the sake of crack. There is no merit in a story that has no coherent plotline, shoddy characterisation, and absolutely no awareness for other cultures."

"But crack is funny! It makes people laugh, desu yo!" whined Kira PandaStarz. She was the infamous Sealand fangirl; Berwald and Tino had already drawn up a restraining order against her.

"ARE YOU THE HEADMASTER?" Ludwig bellowed. Kira squeaked in fear. "NEIN, YOU ARE NOT! Ja, crack is funny, and people like being amused – but the type of crack that we are talking about here is the type with no taste!"

"Since when was crack tasteful?" Ursula Klevins sniffed.

"Hetalia canon is seventy-percent crack," Ludwig retorted. "And yet it manages to be tasteful at times, because it's trying to be educational in an amusing way. In that same line, Hetalia can be read as satire, which once again brings me back to the point of this lecture. You, as a fan, must MAKE SURE YOU KNOW WHAT YOU'RE TALKING ABOUT! If you want to make fun of history, you need to _know_ your history. Our headmaster may not have a history major, but he probably knows the difference between World War One and World War Two. I can't say that much for you."

"Hey, Mr. Allen," Shinbun-kun whispered as Ludwig continued to ramble about insensitive portrayals of historical events. "The visitors need your help."

"Oh, really?" Mr. Allen asked, raising an eyebrow. "What for?"

"They didn't say," Shinbun admitted. "Come on, let's go."

As Mr. Allen and Shinbun left the classroom, Ludwig started approaching his rant message from yet _another _angle. It was rather amazing how much he could talk about these sorts of things – but then again, some Staff members had returned in July with horror stories gleaned from their experiences in bad Hetalia fanfiction. That was quite enough ammunition for _several _rants.

"You know Alfred's books about sparkly vampires, right?" Ludwig asked the class.

"Twilight? Eeeeew!" Brigid screeched. Peter vaguely wondered if Twilight was anything like Vampire Knight.

But Ludwig wasn't talking about Vampire Knight. "Do you also know about Arthur's books about a wizards' school in Scotland?"

"HARRY POTTER, FUCK YEAH!" Lila Kirk screamed randomly. "Draco and Harry are so cute together!"

Ludwig coughed. "Er, ja. There are important differences, though, between the two. Other than the obvious ones like 'one focuses on wizards and the other on vampires', _Harry Potter_ has also received more positive feedback than _Twilight_. Why?"

"Jo is so much better at writing than SMeyer, duh!" Roger West scoffed.

"And Bella and Edward are such horrible characters," added Brigid.

"Still, Meyer had to have something going for her if she got _Twilight_ published in the first place, right? If she couldn't write, then why did she get… what did Alfred call it? National Merit? Ja, if she couldn't write, how did she get a National Merit scholarship?" Ludwig was obviously playing Devil's Advocate, but the students who may have taken the PSAT before looked at each other uneasily. Ludwig took that as a good sign to continue. "So, then, why is one better than the other? It's simple: their handling of the background information and legends behind their subjects are completely different. There have been books written about Rowling's various references to myths and legends in her books. She did all of her research and used that research creatively. Meyer, on the other hand, took all of her research on vampire lore and tap-danced on it. She created invincible vampires who have neither weaknesses nor a feasible way for humans to kill them, and by doing that she bastardised the mythology. It's the same thing for her werewolves –"

"But Jacob wasn't a real werewolf; he's a shape –"

"If he's a shape-shifter, then Meyer narrowly avoided copying Rowling's Animagi. But still, you see the difference, nein? Good stories do their research and use their findings creatively. Bad stories don't do the research or trample all over said research." Ludwig paused. "I'm going to say it once again. These classes here are designed to PRESENT YOU WITH THE HISTORICAL BACKING NECESSARY TO WRITE DECENT HETALIA FANFICTION. You need to do your research if you want any credibility as a writer – fanfiction or not. As a Hetalia fan, you have a duty to understand the culture and history behind the Nations you write, lest you offend people from those Nations. Research is the difference between _Harry Potter_ and _Twilight_. It is also the difference between a good Hetalia fanfic and a bad one."

That particular part of the rant seemed to hit home with some of the students; obviously they resented having their stories compared to _Twilight_.

Ludwig coughed. "HOMEWORK!" he barked, startling the students one last time. "Write an analysis of your works and assess the level of research you did for each story! Then read the chapter on the Pact of Steel between Italy and Germany, and write a summary! YOU MAY NOT USE HETALIA CHARACTERS IN YOUR SUMMARY! Treat it as if you would a school assignment, because I will be grading you on these!"

The students looked at each other uneasily. "Hey, um… Mr. Ludwig?" Emma Cameron asked tentatively, raising her hand. "Our textbooks aren't in English."

"No one told you?" Ludwig chuckled darkly. "Your Canon 101 textbook is printed in the language that you will be learning at IAHF. It's an incentive for you to learn the language, ja?"

The students goggled. How evil could the Staff get?

Oh, they could get eviller than that. Ludwig had started yelling again. "Before I forget – while you are here at IAHF, we expect you to do research for any Hetalia fanfiction you may be told to write by the Staff, unless otherwise stated. UNTIL YOU HAVE DEMONSTRATED A STRONG GRASP OF THE HISTORY BEHIND US NATIONS, YOU MAY NOT WRITE ANYTHING WITHOUT RESEARCH! Any questions? Nein? Class dismissed!"


	5. Shaturday Night Drunk

**Notes:** Allow me to clarify the Twi-bashing last chapter. Ludwig was using _Twilight_ as an example of a badly-researched story that got published. It's a prime example – everyone's heard of it and society remains divided on its merits. Twilight has its good points (interesting side characters and the abstinence-can-be-sexy message), but it still remains a badly-researched book. I'll try to refrain from referring to it unless the plot gives me no choice.  
>That being said, happy birthday to <strong>FH14<strong>!

* * *

><p><strong>Part V<strong>

"Here come the Nerds," Lila Kirk whispered to Peter at dinner on Thursday. They had just left Mythology class, where Norway had spent his class talking about various types of trolls. He had subsequently been interrupted by Denmark bursting in laughing about Norway not wanting to be a 'crappy housewife'.

"Don't worry, Norge, we'll bury you with makeup!" the Dane had cackled as Norway shoved him out of the classroom, face bright crimson. He obviously hated being reminded that he had won that round of 'Worst Singer Ever'. Alfred was biding his time now; obviously the race to the bottom had suddenly become international.

But back to Lila and Peter. "What do you have to do to get in?" Peter wondered as the Nerds walked past, armed with their heavy books as usual. "I mean, other than the test thing…"

One of the Nerds heard. "If you want to get into the Nerd Group this year, we'll be posting applications tomorrow at lunch," she said helpfully.

Peter looked at Lila. "Should I?" he asked; Lila shrugged.

"Dunno, man, you should probably work on the Platonic Love group project," she suggested. Policeman Arthur and Aviator Alfred had assigned the students a group project on the different types of love. Peter and Lila had teamed up, but much to Peter's chagrin, Ursula and Kira had joined them. The other teams called them the oddballs, because there was no other word for the inexplicable teaming of a weaboo, a Sealand fangirl, a fujoshi, and an elitist.

Speaking of the Sealand fangirl and the elitist, they had just entered the cafeteria and taken seats with Lila and Peter at the Europe table. Up ahead, the Nerds were getting their dinner (fettucini alfredo with breadsticks), talking animatedly about the International Criminal Court possibly indicting Gaddafi for using rape as a weapon.

"The debate on the credibility of the ICC is next Thursday; I'm looking forward to it," Alice Wang was saying to Falaba Witch as they took their seats at the Australia table.

"I'm not looking forward to the class on 'rape as a weapon', but I suspect Kuro Kiku and McCarthy Alfred will address it next time," Dorothy Brown piped up. That sparked discussion about why fanwriters seemed to misunderstand the motives behind rape; they were still discussing it even as the GerIta versus SpaIta food fight broke out.

"GERITA!" screamed Mariam Webb. "SPAIN BELONGS WITH ROMANO!"

"BUT ITALY'S ACTUALLY NICE TO SPAIN, SO HE DESERVES SPAIN'S LOVE!" Jessie the winged person screamed back, flapping her wings irritably.

"SHUT UP, ITALY BELONGS TO GERMANY!" screamed Mariam.

"ITALY BELONGS TO NO ONE! ITALY IS INDEPENDENT!" Erika Verena von Richtofen-Marlowe snapped. WHAM! Mariam's next handful of fettucine alfredo hit her straight in the face.

"Oh, no you didn't!" accused Joy Fleet from the Australia table, flinging a breadstick back at Mariam.

"So juvenile," sneered Ursula as the food fight escalated. "Why don't we go to the library? I, for one, would like to do as well as possible so that I can pass this damn school and get back to my writing! I'll have you know, they're excellent!"

"Yeah, whatever desu yo!" Kira exclaimed. "Come on, let's go, yo!" She jumped up, dodged a platter of pasta, and raced out of the cafeteria. The others followed suit, but after a minute or so of running Peter noticed that Kira had bypassed the library.

"Kira, the library's back there," Lila called.

"I know, yo!" Kira exclaimed. "I'm gonna sneak into Peter's – Peter Kirkland, desu yo – room, yo!" She grinned at Peter Hawthorne's horrified look.

"You are _not_!" Ursula screeched, charging after her. "You'll get us into trouble!"

"I'll help you!" Lila yelled, chasing after Ursula. Peter sighed, and chased after Lila. So much for going to the library.

The three of them eventually caught up to each other in front of the door leading to the Hospital Wing. Their quarry had vanished, and after a quick peek they deduced that Kira was not in the Hospital Wing.

There were three doors a few paces away from the entrance to the Hospital Wing. Several paces from that was a storage closet. The students regarded the three doors in the middle; all three of them were identical.

The Staff Section was physically separate from the Student Section, connected by a walkway between the two buildings. Recently, though, the Staff had hid away all of the entries into their domain. The walkway had been covered and concealed, partly due to the inclement weather but mostly due to the need for secrecy. A year of stampedes and fangirl ambushes had taught the Staff great lessons in paranoia.

But back to the three doors. "One of these leads to the covered walkway between the Staff Section and student section," Lila noted. "My brother says so; he's apparently dating one of the G8 members and she managed to get him a pass."

"I thought G8 members had no authority to bring guests," Ursula sniffed.

"That's not the same as getting passes," Lila replied. "But Brother says I shouldn't even bother, since everyone on the G8 seems to be taken – except Charlie Tenterden and Loki Shadow Reave, and they're not really my type."

Peter wondered if Loki was anything like Elisabeta.

"All right, then," Ursula coughed. "What about the other two?"

"They're immediate drops down to the Mochi Concentration camps," Lila replied.

"The _what_?" Peter and Ursula demanded in unison.

"The Mochi Concentration camps," Lila repeated. "One is Auchwits; the other is the Golag. I've heard that the Golag is nastier than Auchwits, but then again, the Gulag was said to be worse than Auschwitz."

"Yeah, yeah, we get it," Ursula groaned. "Which one is the door?"

"Brother never told me," Lila admitted.

"Fat lot of help your brother is!" Ursula huffed, before grabbing the handle of the middle door and opening it. The room inside was dark. "Come on, test the other two!" she insisted. Obligingly, Peter took the left door; Lila took the right. They stepped through hesitantly – and promptly fell.

What Andy Kirk forgot to mention to his sister was that the entrance to the Staff Section was not one of those three doors. When he said 'one of these', he had actually meant the door into the storage closet. One had to enter the closet and press against a certain part of the wall to reveal a revolving door. That same mechanism had been used for the outside entrances; the original doors had been turned into traps leading straight to the Mochi Spawning Pits. The only door that still functioned as a door was the back entry, and that had Mochi guards on it at all times. Satow and Kane had used that entrance.

(Francis had come up with those clever entrances; he obviously had been reading the _Phantom of the Opera_ again.)

Still, when Peter landed with an undignified 'oof' into a cell at Auchwits, he saw Kira PandaStarz sitting in the next cell trying to hit on the Sealand Mochi (zpeter) guarding her.

Peter facepalmed.

* * *

><p>"What did the visitors want you to fix on Tuesday?" Mr. Hugh asked Mr. Allen as he sat in a rocking chair feeding Emma on Saturday night. Mr. Allen shrugged, taking off his 'I Heart New York' hoodie and sitting down across from his alter-ego.<p>

"Satow wanted me to fix a clock. I don't know how to fix a clock," the American Course Coordinator drawled, folding his arms behind his head and leaning back. "I can fix video game consoles and computers – in fact, I fix everything you break – but not clocks. I can't even fix your damn guitar."

"Luckily, I can fix my own guitar. Thank god for small mercies," the British Course Coordinator deadpanned as Emma fell asleep suckling at her bottle. He gently nudged her awake. "I don't know about clocks, though – is it an analogous clock?"

"Yeah. I suggested getting Vash, but they didn't want the secret leaked – whatever secret they have, of course. There are no secrets in this place," Mr. Allen scoffed.

"That is true. I heard Satow might ask Kiku for help, though. I don't know why…"

"Seiko watches," Mr. Allen replied. "That, and Satow seems to get along well with Kiku. They were discussing the Meiji Restoration at breakfast on Wednesday, remember? And I heard Kiku's letting Satow borrow his anime DVDs." There was a hint of jealousy in his voice. "He never lets me borrow his anime DVDs, and I'm the fricking Course Coordinator."

"He lets you borrow his games, and he shares his doujins with everyone," Mr. Hugh pointed out. "However, I myself am concerned about letting Satow absorb too much modern Japanese culture."

"We think alike, as always," snickered Mr. Allen. "Get off my brainwave, you."

"What is this brainwave of which you speaketh?" Mr. Hugh wondered, absentmindedly burping his drowsy daughter. "But you know the dangers inherent in all of this. Remember what happened to Sir Edwin Arnold?"

"Don't remind me," groaned Mr. Allen. One of Mr. Hugh's historical family friends, a certain Japanophile named Sir Edwin Arnold, had visited IAHF over the summer. Kiku had let him borrow his anime as well, but forgot to take out the hentai DVDs. Needless to say, poor Sir Arnold was never quite the same afterward.

Granted, tentacle porn in Japanese art had older roots than one would normally expect, especially considering the notoriety of the 'Dream of the Fisherman's Wife'. But that was tangential.

The two Course Coordinators sat in a comfortable silence for a while longer, before Mr. Hugh got up and put the slumbering Emma in her crib.

"You know, I believe we once had a Spring Dance planned on the day of Arthur's Royal Wedding," Mr. Allen said suddenly. "Whatever happened to it?"

"Everything else happened and it got cancelled," Mr. Hugh replied. "I have plans for a fall dance, though, on September twelfth. The Asian Nations have been insisting that we celebrate their Mid-Autumn Festival."

"Ooh, Yao's moon cakes are the best!" Mr. Allen squealed. "I am so supporting this, Hughie!" He paused. "We still need to schedule the Sexual Clarification seminars again, and start preparations for Halloween. I suppose you can take care of the Mid-Autumn Dance."

Mr. Hugh groaned. "No rest for the weary, it seems."

"And definitely no rest for the wicked," Mr. Allen snickered.

* * *

><p>Meanwhile, most of the IAHF Staff were spending their Saturday evening the way they liked it – drunk.<p>

"Ahaha, you fink there's somefing between that Peter Hawthorne bloke and Andy's sister?" Sara Parker was well on her way to intoxication. Again. At least this time she was dragging someone down with her.

Loki Shadow Reave cackled and took a swig of whiskey, nodding drunkenly as she slammed the bottle back onto the floor with a solid 'thunk'. "Yesh, I do shink she likesh 'im," she slurred. "Or maybe 'e likesh 'er. One of dem likesh dee odder, dat I can shay for shure."

"God, Loki, how much did you drink?" Andy Kirk demanded, stubbing out his cigarette and ducking out of a sloppy, drunken kiss from Sara. "You too, Sara. You smell like absinthe."

Sara went slightly cross-eyed. "I fink I see the green faerie!" she exclaimed, pointing to her nose.

"An' you shmell like nicotine, sho you can't talk," Loki added as Sara tried to catch the nonexistent green faerie. Andy groaned.

"Apparently drinking absinthe is like eating Arthur's cooking," he drawled. "I'm taking away the alcohol."

"I'll take away your cigarettes!" Sara exclaimed in a moment of semi-lucidity, lunging for his pants pocket. She missed admirably.

"I don't keep my cigs _there_," Andy retorted, smacking Sara's hands away from his crotch. Loki was in drunken hysterics.

"I shink he keepsh a completely different package dere, Shara," the Shadow demon snickered. Sara paid her no heed; her hand had gone back to Andy's crotch and she was…

Loki groaned. "Oh gosh, I'm gonna be shick." Sure enough, Andy and Sara had started making out. "I'm outta here!" Swaying horribly, the Shadow demon staggered to her feet and stumbled out of the room. At least Andy had the decency to wave goodbye as he flipped their positions, pinning Sara down on the bed.

"Wow, Loki, how did you manage to get into Sara's alcohol supply?" whistled Charlie Tenterden as he pranced by. "I could never figure out how to convince her to get me that bottle of whiskey." Loki shrugged, slumping to the ground as the redhead skipped away.

Moments later, Alfred emerged from a nearby hallway, dragging an obviously drunk Arthur back to his room. "Fuck, you're heavy," the American was cursing as Arthur happily clung onto his legs, incoherently babbling as he bumped along. Loki took a swig of whiskey.

"Man, I should come up wish a drinking game for dish," she snickered to no one in particular. "Arshur getsh washted on Shaturday night, check."

As Alfred and his British baggage stumped away, Charlie came running back down the hallway, chased by a furious (and half-dressed) Mr. Hugh.

"Charlie attempsh to get into Mishter Hugh'sh pants, check."

Both Mr. Hugh and Charlie had suddenly bumped into Francis Bonnefois, who had drank one too many glasses of wine and was streaking about clad in only a rose. Both Course Coordinator and fanboy turned tail and fled.

"Franshish ish shtreaking, check."

Before Loki knew it, she had passed out with the bottle in her arms. Once Francis had charged down a side corridor in pursuit of Mr. Hugh, Charlie tiptoed back to the slumbering demon and stole her whiskey.

Indeed, an average Saturday night in the Staff Section could be entertaining. On the weekends, it seemed that the Staff's philosophy was that time was a waste of life, life was a waste of time, and they ought to get wasted all the time in order to have the time of their life. Needless to say, Sunday morning hangovers were notorious at IAHF as well.

It seemed as if Loki and Sara had enough ammunition for the Chart.


	6. Of Giant Roosters and Hormone Attacks

**Warning:** Discussion of rape as a form of genocide. Don't read if you get triggered.

* * *

><p><strong>Part VI<strong>

By now, August was fading into September. The leaves on the trees were turning red, yellow, and orange, falling to the ground in spectacular autumnal dances. Alfred F. Jones and Ivan Braginski were actually being productive for once and competing to see who can rake up the most leaves. The problem was that they kept on jumping in each others' leaf piles. And once they broke out the leaf blowers…

Well, it sufficed to say that no one was safe from the noise and the excessive wind. Many a hairstyle had been ruined by the two superpowers' leaf-blowing competition.

Peter had emerged from Auchwits a week later than his companions, since he had already been wanted for an extra detention. By that time, his grades were suffering horrendously – their group failed the Platonic Love project, of course, since they weren't there to present theirs – and Ursula had sworn that she would kill him if he ever got her into trouble ever again. Strange how she had forgotten that the entire incident had started with Kira PandaStarz.

But that didn't hit Peter too badly. What really stung, though, was that he missed Elisabeta's first and second classes.

"What are we doing today?" he asked Glenda Rosenburg as they lined up in front of Kiku's classroom on Monday.

"We have a test on pronunciation!" Glenda exclaimed, waving at Jessie the winged person. Jessie was standing in front of the Spanish classroom, with Stanley South and Sandra East. There seemed to be a sudden demand for Spanish lessons amongst the newer students, so Antonio had set up a class as well next to the French and German classrooms.

Speaking of the French students, Fye Acespaid was standing outside Francis's classroom, reviewing his endings to regular '-er' verbs. "E, es, e, ons, ez, ent!" he sang to the tune of 'Old MacDonald'. Several other students were gathered around him, adding some additional notes.

"In words like 'manger', it's '-eons', not '-ons', my friend," chipped in Nessie. She had no definitive species, age, or physical description, so the Staff had stuck a stick figure in her place. There seemed to be a lot of Scottish (or Scottish-heritage) students running around IAHF this year; some of the other students thought they were brown-nosing Mr. Hugh.

Charlie Tenterden had laughed at Charles Fraser the Forest Elf last week. Granted, that ended with Charlie running down the hallway being pelted with ice cream, but Charles 'Princie' Fraser really did look comical. And not at all like Bonnie Prince Charles.

But back to Peter. "I wasn't here for the first two lessons; should I be scared?"

Kagaya Talia Daye, one of Lila's friends (birds of a feather flocked together), snickered at him. "Oh man, you are _so_ dead," she snickered.

"Yeah, and if you don't die by Kiku's test I'll 'desu' you to death," chipped in Faeleen Dempsy, twitching her cat ears amusedly. She had reputedly put down 'having a pouch around the middle' on her form, so Sealand thought that she was part-cat, part-human, and part-kangaroo.

A giant rooster suddenly strutted into their midst. "WHAZZUP BITCHES, READY TO GET PWN'D BY MY COCK?" it squawked. Peter stared.

"Who the fuck is that?" he whispered to Lila, who had migrated to his side of the classroom with an annoyed expression on her face.

"Sparkles McDesu," Lila replied. "Bit of a latecomer, since they took eons approving her form. I think she's a troll."

"Please let her be a troll," added Kagaya. "She keeps on wanting to join our fujoshi club!" Said fujoshi club was only in its infancy, simply because most yaoi fangirls at IAHF stuck with certain ships and staunchly refused to cooperate with different shippers.

"She sounds like some worker in the porn industry," snickered Faleen. "It would explain why she's a rooster, despite being female."

"_Ohhhhh_, she put 'cock' as species on her form!" Glenda cackled. "I see what they did thar!"

Kiku and the rest of the Staff suddenly arrived on the scene. Sparkles attempted to attack Gilbert; it took four Mochis - Preusen, Prusia, Prusse, and proisen – to subdue her. Gilbert looked about ready to invest in one of Vash's rifles.

"Into the classroom, please," Kiku said to Peter and the other Japanese students as the four Prussian Mochis bounced Sparkles off to the Golag. "I trust that you all are prepared for your listening and speaking test today."

Peter spoke up. "Um… Kiku-san –"

"It's _Honda-sensei_, Hawthorne-san," Kiku corrected. "I don't know you and you don't know me. We go on a last name basis until I get to know you better; it is only polite."

"Er… yeah, Honda-sensei… I wasn't here for the last two classes."

Kiku smiled sadly. "Just do the best you can, then." The others had taken their seats; Kiku was already handing out the tests.

Naturally, Peter failed it.

* * *

><p>"I can't believe this!" Alfred exclaimed, slamming the report down onto the table in the meeting room. The other Staff members (yet another Nations-only meeting, but the G8 were listening in via Shinbun-kun's wiretapping devices) looked at him with raised eyebrows.<p>

"Hey, when your Fox News recognises that there may be a problem with the drug war, you know there is a problem with the drug war," Matthew said, crossing his arms and smirking.

"Are you high?" Alfred demanded. Matthew laughed harshly.

"Not right now, eh," the Canadian remarked, "but honestly, stop to think about it. Legalising pot isn't that bad, eh."

"Why would you say that? Putting more drugs out there means more people on drugs!" Alfred snapped.

Arthur snorted. "Did you read the report?" he asked.

"What?" Alfred echoed. "Aw, come on, it's twenty-four pages long!"

"Idiot! History textbooks are longer than that!" Arthur flipped to page eight of the report, done by the Global Commission on Drug Policy. Alfred stared at the bar graphs. "Can you tell? Here is the impact of drug policies on HIV rates amongst people who inject drugs."

"What does that have to do with anything?" Alfred got a good smack to the head by Arthur for that.

"Some injection drug users share needles, and dirty needles spread HIV. As you can tell, countries that use 'comprehensive harm reduction' –"

"Isn't that like rehab or something?" Alfred demanded, still staring at his own stats. "Seventeen percent… seventeen percent… how did I get seventeen? You only have like three percent!"

"Look," Vash growled. "In our countries – that is to say, Arthur's, Ludwig's, mine, and Australia's – we let drug addicts get treatment without having to face jail time for having a lapse in judgement. Of course, this is only a sample of countries who implement these policies – I'm sure there's more than four."

"Yes. We treat addicts as patients, not dangerous criminals. There's a difference, Al," Australia said. "And look! You're not as bad as Ivan and… Thailand?"

Thailand looked suitably sheepish. "Sorry?" he offered. "Our country only uses repressive and deterrence strategies – we crack down on drugs and force people to stay away… but they still use it." His eyes were sad.

"Da, it's the same here," Ivan agreed.

"Statistics are not enough!" Antonio declared, jumping up onto the table. "If you read the entire report, you would have noticed more than just that chart. The report calls for decriminalisation of drugs, because face it, Alfred – the drug war's lost. We've lost to the cartels. _You_'ve lost to the cartels."

"Yes, repressive strategies have only driven up the rate of drug users," Ludwig agreed, "resulting in a widespread black market trade in drugs, and consequentially more power to drug cartels. Most people on the black market are only there because they need the money to continue satisfying their addiction. If they had legal means, then they wouldn't be involved with the black market and they would be even more harmless."

"Harmless?" demanded Alfred, sitting heavily in a chair. He took off his glasses and rubbed his temples. "What do you mean 'harmless'? They're a danger to society!"

"Some addicts are addicts against their will – they tried it, thinking it'd be easy to quit. Well, they were wrong," Francis remarked, taking a sip of water. "And your attitude towards drug users only exacerbates the situation. By thinking of them as a danger to society, you increase the marginalisation and stigmatisation of addicts. They would then be less likely to go into rehab, and more likely to die."

Alfred paled. If there was one long-standing rule of Nations, it was to never let their people die.

"They don't deserve punishment for being an idiot," Arthur agreed. "They deserve treatment so that they can move on with their lives."

Matthew laughed. "And come on, Al, you know you can profit off this, right? Legalise pot and tax it like you do with cigarettes and alcohol. You'll get so much revenue…" he grinned.

"Are you insinuating that _I'm_ high?" Alfred demanded.

The other Nations looked at each other with matching 'he never changes, does he' looks.

* * *

><p>The League of Extraordinary Anglophiles needed a new Anglophile-in-Chief. The problem was that there seemed to be a distinctive lack of Anglophiles within the new students (compared to the other fangroups); the bulk of Arthur's fan base may have graduated last semester.<p>

The former leader, Kriss Kross, was one of them – in fact, Kriss, Merka, and Jennifer had all been Anglophiles. But the G8 had different responsibilities now, and those three could barely ever make it to the LEA meetings with those new responsibilities.

"VOTE FOR ME FOR ANGLOPHILE-IN-CHIEF!" Yuri Yamaguchi squealed over a late afternoon tea on Tuesday.

"NO, VOTE FOR ME!" Rinaldia Aria Winston Rivera screamed. "VOTE FOR MEEEEEE!" She shattered a couple of glasses and nearly cracked the teapot.

"Shut up, Rinaldia, before you break everything!" Midori Harrison insisted, as several angry trumpets blared. Midori was part-musician; a popular pastime amongst the students was to try and create a symphony by poking her.

"Well, I'm not voting for you!" Rinaldia whined, crossing her arms.

The new Anglophiles – Lila, Farrah-Grace Bennett, Ty Chan, and Elizabeth Katherine DuLay (instant celebrity, since she was Karen's little sister) – looked at each other uneasily. "Do we have to vote?" Ty asked.

"Well, duh," Rinaldia replied, crossing her arms. "Vote for me, okay?"

"No soliciting votes!" snapped Midori. "In fact, I think Kriss already appointed someone as her successor."

"What, we're doing it the monarchy way?" whined Molly O'Flannigan-Oxenstierna. "That's no fun!"

"I have the envelope," Midori chirped, holding up said envelope (bells tinkled).

"How do we know it's legitly from Kriss?" demanded Melissa N. Rohart.

Midori carefully opened the envelope (a guitar started strumming). "It's her handwriting," she said, waving the contents of the envelope.

"How do you know what her handwriting looks like!" huffed Rinaldia.

"It's close to chicken scratch, so your argument is invalid," Midori smirked. "The next Anglophile-in-Chief will be Charley Maytha," she added, to a fanfare of trumpets.

_WHAT_! Charley bounced up from her seat, nearly upsetting her tea. She was a Fan Artist and Fanfic Writer, which meant that whatever she wanted to say appeared in sparkling letters above her head. Said letters were Union Jack-coloured, since she was English. _I'm the new leader_?

"Yup!" Midori trilled.

_Dog's bollocks_! Charley did a dance around the room. Rinaldia and Yuri glowered.

"Why Charley?" demanded Yuri.

"She's more mature than you, according to Kriss," Midori replied, smirking. "Plus, she's English."

"BUT I'M MORE ENTHUSIASTIC!" Rinaldia screamed. The teapot broke, spilling tea all over the tablecloth.

"What the fuck was that?" Monochrome Cloud snapped, grabbing the nearby wastebasket to dispose of the teapot shards. "We just got this tablecloth cleaned!"

"I'M ANGRY!" Rinaldia ran out of the room, shattering glass in her wake.

"You see why we didn't appoint her?" Midori sighed to the newbies.

"Wait, so Kriss didn't appoint Charley?" Farrah demanded.

Midori rolled her eyes to a clarinet playing the scales. "She had some input, but it was largely collaboration between Merka, Jennifer, Monochrome, and me."

"Well, I hope Charley can… lead the Anglophiles like Kriss did," Melissa N. Rohart called from across the table as she slathered a scone with Devonshire cream.

_Cheers_, Charley replied, shrugging.

* * *

><p>The inevitable happened in Evolution of War that next Wednesday.<p>

The problem was… which incident was 'inevitable'? Considering that the darker counterparts of Kiku and Alfred – Kuro Kiku and McCarthy Alfred – were teaching the class, a lot of things could be inevitable. Torture was one. McCarthy Alfred singling out a hapless student to accuse of being a conspirator against the school was another. Kuro Kiku forcing someone to demonstrate seppuku was yet another.

But this inevitable incident was the discussion about genocide. Or, more importantly, one of the most shattering weapons used in genocide.

"Rape and other sexual atrocities are very common during genocide, war, and other violent group conflicts," Kuro Kiku was lecturing as the third semester students sat nervously in their seats. The Evolution of War – granted, it should be better termed as 'Evolution of Conflict', but somehow 'Evolution of War' just had a better ring to it – classroom was one of the darkest classrooms in the school. It was sparsely lit, the walls were painted with varying shades of black (who knew black had so many different shades), and the blackboard (one of the only blackboards at the school) seemed to love making chalk squeak on its surface. It was the classic evil-overlord-as-a-teacher classroom.

Wait a moment…

"Can someone define rape?" McCarthy Alfred asked as he wrote 'genocide rape' and 'war rape' on the blackboard.

Emma Julietta Markowska shakily raised her hand. "Rape is the act of forced sexual intercourse," she said.

"Precisely. It is forcing someone to have sex with you against their will. I trust that you know what sex is, so I won't go into that," McCarthy Alfred snapped. Lucas Arch patted Susanna Black-White's head comfortingly. Susanna was practically his adoptive little sister, considering the amount of time she spent physically and metaphorically under his wing. She was easily the most innocent kid in the school, despite the numerous concerted efforts by older students to corrupt her. "Why is rape such a heinous crime?"

"Because it destroys one's sense of self-worth," Emma replied immediately. "It makes the victim feel unsafe and inflicts psychological trauma. Since society often pins the blame on the victim, those scars are magnified."

Kuro Kiku nodded. "Rape can happen anytime, anywhere. It is not a crime restricted to war or genocide." He paused. "Who usually gets raped?"

"Women," the students chorused.

"And who usually does the raping?"

"France," Rinaldia joked. The French Mochis hissed. "Er… men! Yeah, I meant… men!"

"Is that strictly true? Just because you are a man, you do not get raped?" Kuro Kiku's eyes narrowed.

"Of course not!" snapped Yumi. "France totally raped Iggy once!"

"No one raped anyone in the Hetalia canon," growled Kuro Kiku. "But still, it's true that men do get raped – usually by other men, though. Rarely do women rape men, but it has happened before."

"How is that possible?" Mars McMillan scoffed. "If a hot chick ties you up and has her nasty way with you, wouldn't you actually end up enjoying it?"

"Hey, hey." Andy turned around and glared at Mars. "I've heard some stories about this one female schoolteacher forcing her way-too-young male students to have sex with her. It's possible."

"We are getting off topic!" hissed McCarthy Alfred. "What we are trying to define here is that anyone can get raped, no matter what gender. And unfortunately, since most rapists _are_ men –"

"But not all men are rapists," chipped in Kuro Kiku.

"We will be primarily portraying the rapist as male," finished McCarthy Alfred. "Now – MR. KIRK, PUT OUT THAT CIGARETTE! SMOKING IN CLASS MAKES YOU A COMMUNIST SYMPATHISER!"

"What?" Andy demanded, but he stubbed his cigarette nonetheless. "What does smoking have to do with Communism?"

"You are disrespecting me!" snapped McCarthly Alfred. "I stand as the last bulwark of freedom against the Red Menace! If you disrespect me, you disrespect liberty against the chains of Communism!"

"Let's get on with it," growled Kuro Kiku. "Why do people rape? And Mr. Arch, don't say love. Rape does not equal love."

Lucas looked suitably sheepish.

"They do it for the power," Septembre Nightingale answered.

"Exactly. Rape exerts dominance and control over another person, since the rapist is _forcing_ the victim to have sex," lectured Kuro Kiku. "This is the reason why rape is a popular weapon in violent conflict – but don't confuse violent conflict for war, or war for genocide. Last class we defined genocide, and the class before that we defined war. Can someone give us the definitions of war and genocide?"

"Genocide is the deliberate and systematic destruction of an ethnic, racial, political, or cultural group," Alice Wang said immediately. "War is armed conflict between different nations or states, or different groups within. In genocide, one group has substantially more power and weapons against another; in war the distribution is more equal."

"But some wars have had polar power balances, and they're not exactly genocides," McCarthy Alfred pointed out.

"The target group is weakened to the point that they are practically incapable of fighting back," Alice replied.

"Good, good. Back to rape, then. As we said before, rape is commonly used in violent conflict – in fact, Colonel Gaddafi may be indicted for using rape as a weapon in the Libyan civil war," Kuro Kiku said. "But there's a difference between war rape and genocide rape. War rape is not exactly genocidal, even if the rapes committed during wars often have an ethnic basis."

"Yes, like how the Japanese forced many Chinese and Korean women to be 'comfort women' during World War Two and how the Soviets raped many German women after World War Two," McCarthy Alfred pointed out. "Those rapes were not committed with the intent on destroying the Chinese, the Koreans, or the Germans, so they are not genocide rapes. Can anyone else list differences between war rape and genocide rape?"

"You don't know who attacks you in war rape. You definitely know who in genocide rape," KyAnna said. "Identity is important in genocide."

"Yes, in genocide rape, the victim and the rapist are both representative of their groups. It shows that the aggressive group can violate the target group at will." Kuro Kiku nodded. "What else?"

"Genocide rape is systematic; war rape is out of control," replied Alice Wang. "In genocides, rape can actually become legal if it's against the target group."

McCarthy Alfred nodded as well. "Good, so now that we've cleared that, let's go specifically into genocide rape. Rape is used as a weapon in genocide for the following reasons – copy these down; they'll be on the test. It can be used as a means for killing, it creates an atmosphere of terror and submission, it causes shame and humiliation to the woman and her ethnic group, it removes those groups from certain areas –"

"How does it do that?" asked Laisai Delavie.

"Sometimes women in the target group are sent to special rape camps – and don't even say what you're going to say, Miss Rivera," snapped Kuro Kiku.

Rinaldia looked suitably chastened and muttered something about France under her breath.

McCarthy Alfred continued breezily. "Rape in genocide can also cause self-hate, break down communities, and dilute the children's race."

"Dilute… what?" Katrina Shareen Liew Lay Ee asked.

"In cultures where the child is assumed to be the race of its father, genocide rape would, in the event of a pregnancy, cast doubt on the child's racial identity," Kuro Kiku answered. "The mother's ethnic group would definitely shun the child – they may even shun the mother herself. That is why genocide rape destroys communities."

"The members of those target groups would also try not to associate themselves with those groups, because they start to believe they are the only sort of people that get raped," added McCarthy Alfred. "In the end, though, our nicer counterparts would like to remind you that rape is serious. If it can inflict trauma in peacetime, that trauma is magnified in conflict. Taking matters like this lightly at IAHF can result in serious consequences."

The students shivered. McCarthy Alfred really was quite frightening when he said things like 'serious consequences'. One can only imagine what those could be, and then multiply their imaginings by ten.

"W-w-will that e-ever happen t-to us?" Mariam Webb asked, quaking in her seat.

Kuro Kiku and McCarthy Alfred looked at each other. "We draw the line there," Kuro Kiku replied. "The IAHF Staff do not believe in sexual violence. However, if a peer has assaulted you sexually, you are more than welcome to tell the Staff. Our motto is Learning through Pain, but not that sort of pain."

"Well, that's cheerful," muttered Dana. Dorothy Brown sighed and nodded.

* * *

><p>"The Mid-Autumn Dance is next Monday! I can't wait!" Georgia Callais squealed. She was sharing a dorm with Brigid Hughes, and it was rather obvious that the two were likely to never get along. Brigid was a Nerd Group applicant (the examinations were the weekend after the upcoming weekend); Georgia was a shipper. Brigid detested USUK. Georgia supported USUK (and, surprisingly enough, FrUK, Asakiku, and practically anything except crack pairings).<p>

Georgia was also responsible for Mr. Hughes, the Mr. Hugh Mochi that Charlie Tenterden had lovingly adopted.

"I can't wait for a night of quiet," complained Brigid as she continued to read her copy of _The Complete Works of Shakespeare_. In Irish.

"You study too much," whined Georgia. "You've gotta help me pick out a dress! I want to look my cutest!"

"I don't care about the dance; go find someone who cares about the dance," Brigid snarled, slamming her head down onto the book. "Leave me alone!"

Georgia flounced out of her room and knocked on Lila and Kagaya's room. They were one of the lucky pairs, since they shared a similar interest in yaoi. "You guyyyyyyys have to help me!" whined Georgia as she wobbled slightly against the doorframe. "I want to look pretty for the Mid-Autumn Dance but my roommate's a stick in the mud!"

"Why are you asking us?" Lila asked, looking slightly flabbergasted. "I mean… I… um… don't really know that much about fashion…"

"Yeah…" Kagaya lamented. "Maybe Nick Jenkins can help!"

"Nick's a boy, though," pouted Georgia.

"He's gay, too," giggled Lila. "He's so adorable, especially when he's making out with –"

"But I need help finding a perfect outfit!" Georgia looked to be on the verge of tears.

"Someone wants a perfect outfit?" Aki Chung-Feng asked, strutting down the hall with a grin. "I'm like, so fashionable. You have to ask me!"

"Okay, I will!" Georgia immediately perked up. Lila and Kagaya looked at each other and rolled their eyes.

The attack of the hormones seemed imminent.


	7. Enamel Teacups and Brush Paintings

**Notes:** Is having twins or BFFs at this school the new fad or something? I was under the impression that IAHF was designed to shove people out of comfort zones. Is it possible for future applicants to tone that down a tad? I was fine with Dorothy and Carolina, Faye and Andy, the Angels, etc because they were all distinctive and had some tensions with their connections already at the school. Security blankets are so elementary.  
>Okay, that came out a little more pissy-sounding than I'd like. Still, please don't give me twins if you're giving me multiple OCs. And if your character hasn't even heard of Hetalia until twenty minutes ago and therefore can't even be called a fan yet, I may have to drop them.<p>

* * *

><p><strong>Part VII<strong>

"Put that down, Georgia. Right now!"

Aki Chung-Feng and Georgia Callais were closeted in Aki's room (her roommate Erika Verena von Richtofen-Marlowe was in the library writing the Nerd Group Entrance Exam), fumbling through Aki's closet for a suitable outfit. Georgia had found a headband with rainbow streamers; she looked like a humanoid Nyan Cat.

"But the streamers are so puh-puh-puhretty!" Georgia squealed, twirling around trying to bat at the streamers.

"Georgia, do you want a good outfit?" Aki sighed.

"Yes, yes, yes!" Georgia sprang to attention. Aki nodded.

"I thought so. All right, give me back the streamers." She held out her hand; Georgia pouted but handed the headband back. "And don't even think about touching the yarn over there."

"But yarn is fun…" Georgia sighed and curled up on Aki's bed.

Aki rolled her eyes, but continued to rifle through her closet. Before she could finish, though, the door burst open and Kira PandaStarz came rushing in.

"I heard you were giving fashion advice, yo!" she exclaimed, plopping down next to Georgia. Aki nodded, averting her eyes slightly. Kira was apparently part-star, part-panda; not only did she have a great appetite for bamboo shoots (and had to avoid getting kidnapped by the China fangirls to be set up as a trap for their Lust Object), she was also full of hot air.

Since stars were giant balls of hydrogen and helium, after all…

"All right," Aki said after a moment. "The first thing you need to know about fashion is cleanliness. You need to make sure that your hair, face, teeth, hands, and clothes are clean and proper. Pimples only happen because of an excess of oil and dirt on the face, so proper washing should help prevent that."

"Yeah, yeah, sure, but I just needed clothes and makeup advice!" Georgia exclaimed impatiently.

"This is makeup," Aki pointed out. "You can't put on makeup without a clean face, silly. Now… clothes. You have to make sure they fit properly – too baggy is just as bad as too tight, because it looks uncomfortable and feels uncomfortable."

"Colours, Aki!" Georgia snapped. Aki threw a shoe at her.

"I'm getting there!" the Chinese girl huffed. "Okay, colours! There are differences between different hues of the same colour – don't pay attention to what guys say about it all being the same. We girls know the differences between hues. See this dress? It's lighter than the other." She held up a lavender dress and compared it to a purple dress. "Lighter colours make skin look darker; darker colours make skin look lighter. That's contrast. Good outfits provide contrast that flatters your body."

"I know; I wear white to show off my tan," Georgia replied flippantly. Kira was taking notes.

Aki nodded. "Well… it seems that both of you are a bit dark-skinned. Look at yourself in the mirror first. Can you tell your skin tone from your face? If not, look at the inside of your arm."

The girls complied. "Um…" Georgia squinted. "Can't tell."

"I'm Black, yo," added Kira.

"Look closely. I think Kira has a cool skin tone and… Georgia, you have a warm skin tone. Clothes need to complement skin tone as well as hair and eyes – if you choose the wrong colours, you can end up looking really ugly." Aki grinned and pulled out some more dresses. "Luckily, I'm just telling you two how to find a pretty dress for the dance! See… Kira, for your skin tone you need a lot of intense colours. Black, navy blue, red, and hot pink will look good on you. Same goes for bright white and icy pastels."

"Icy what, yo?" Kira asked, looking at the red dress that Aki was holding up to her body.

"Icy pastels, like cool blues, pinks, and yellows. Try this one on." She handed a light blue dress to the part-star. Turning around, Aki saw Georgia holding up a white dress. "Nuh-uh-uh! For your skin tone, white really doesn't work. Even if you want to flaunt the tan… it makes you look like you have a bad tan, see?" She fumbled around in the closet some more and came back with a cinnamon-coloured dress. "This one might go well, since your sort of skin tone goes well with rich, spicy colours like that. Think of the earth, kay? Camel, beige, olive, orange, gold… those will look good. Cool colours and really bright colours won't look good."

"What about red?" Georgia asked, looking at the cinnamon-coloured dress sceptically.

"Red goes well with practically all complexions, yeah," Aki said, grinning. "Both of you could probably get away with wearing black with red."

Kira was twirling around with the blue dress. "I am going to look so pretty, yo," she gushed. "I will dance with Sealand and we will fly off into the sunset together, get married, and have a million babies –"

"Paedo!" Georgia whined as she held up a red dress thoughtfully.

* * *

><p>The day before the Mid-Autumn Dance was a day of solemnity for Alfred and the American students. That afternoon after Art (or Music, if you were a third semester student), the Staff decided to hold an impromptu seminar.<p>

"Everyone knows the significance of today, yeah?" Alfred asked at the podium. "Today marks a ten-year anniversary of a horrific event in world history. I'm not saying 'world' because I'm a selfish brat –"

"Sure, Alfred," Arthur remarked from behind him. Alfred turned around and stuck his tongue out at him.

"I'm saying it because the war afterwards was close to a de-facto world war. But that's not all – the conflict became a battle of ideologies. A battle over democracy. A battle between Middle East and West." The American's face was unnaturally stern. "Such events don't deserve defamation through bad Hetalia fanfiction."

Silence. The silence was so palpable that Peter was convinced that he could choke on it.

"I know a lot of people write fanfics about our reactions to these sorts of events because they care. That's nice. The problem is that the message that those people want to convey gets distorted through their story. Was the message 'help America'? Or was it 'help Alfred'? Was the author promoting awareness for our plight and calling people to action, or was the author using the event as an excuse for angst-ridden cuddles?" Alfred pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose and sighed. "If you did it for the latter reason, then you just offended everyone in America, especially those people at the World Trade Centre that fateful morning."

"It was the same thing in Japan," Kiku added. "People protested when you, the Hetalia fans, posted pictures of me being wounded in the aftermath of their earthquake. Those pictures were offensive because they screamed 'save Kiku' instead of 'save Japan'. There are differences between saving me and saving my people. I don't need your assistance. My people do."

Matthew stood up. "That doesn't mean you're forever barred from writing about current events, eh. You just have to be discrete. Handle the situation maturely – that means don't be offensive. Try to offer a call to action, or a memorial for the victims. Don't use the situation as an excuse to ship your favourite ship."

"Excellent points, Mattie and Kiku!" Alfred grinned. "Sensitive topics like these need to be handled sensitively. There are people reading your story who have been affected. If your so-called tribute is just a long smutfic about the affected Nation getting comfort sex from another Nation in the aftermath of the disaster, then that would be offensive. Not everything requires some form of sex to go with it – despite what Francis may say."

Some people giggled, but Matthew coughed and they fell silent. "That seems to be the worst problem amongst you, eh," he said. "History does not exist to serve your slashy needs. Please stop giggling at war, for one. No matter how many vital regions were invaded, war isn't sexy. Dying senselessly on the battlefield isn't sexy."

"If it takes actual immersion in war for you to understand that…" Ludwig sighed. "Insensitivity is our biggest issue, it seems. For example, when is it ever proper to do a Nazi salute?"

The students stared at him blankly. "What?" Peter whispered to Lila.

"Some idiots did a Nazi salute during a Hetalia cosplay meeting," Lila whispered back. "It was Passover and they were a block away from a Holocaust memorial."

Peter goggled at her. Ludwig glared at them.

"Allow me to answer it, then. IT IS NEVER PROPER TO DO A NAZI SALUTE. Not in Germany, not in Austria, and definitely _not_ a block away from a Holocaust memorial. The Nazis are not people you should emulate."

"Don't act like Mussolini, either!" bawled Feliciano. "Fascism isn't cool, ve!"

"Swastikas are not awesome," added Gilbert, "unless you are doing a study on Indian religions, Native American culture, or archaeology. It's illegal to use a swastika as a Nazi or hate symbol. In some places, it's illegal to use it, period."

"So… yeah," Alfred sighed. "Insensitivity is bad."

Arthur spoke up again. "Let's have a moment of silence, then, for those people who died in the 9/11 attacks – not for Alfred and his collapsed lungs."

* * *

><p>"Wah, I feel guilty," Lila admitted to Peter after the seminar as the students traipsed off to dinner. "I wrote some GermanyAustria smut once. It was about the Anschluss."

"At least you didn't write post-earthquake Giripan," Chiara Valenti snapped as she brushed past. Peter laughed sheepishly, remembering his (badly-drawn) art that called for saving Kiku and the anime.

"They're going to do a seminar on cosplaying," he said suddenly. "Stan said so."

"Yeah, there have been problems with Hetalia cosplayers. Some of them misuse flags," Lila agreed. "But my brother says they did a seminar about it last semester, too. I think they're just doing it again because it's becoming a bigger problem."

"Well, _duh_, it's because of you weaboos," Ursula sniffed as she flounced past. "I mean, we were such a nice fandom until you lot came over with that stupid dub and ruined everything."

"No one asked you to be an elitist," Lila retorted. Ursula huffed and stormed off.

"She really thinks she's better than everyone else, does she?" Peter asked as Ursula disappeared into the cafeteria.

"She is _insufferable_," growled Lila. "Not Faye-level, though, but getting there. I mean, who freaking starts a hate club here?" Ursula had spearheaded the Anti-England movement amongst the new students (and some of the older ones, too, like MiMi Sonhart). The Staff had quickly cracked down on them; Mr. Allen had amended the rules to prohibit hate clubs. Even the G8 had coined a slogan – 'Don't Tolerate Intolerance' – and hired the Bled Pinjas to paint it all over the school. Within an afternoon, the Bled Pinjas had managed to spray paint the message over any wall that wasn't sentient, because they had somehow obtained a supply of Bled spray paint. No one was safe.

Peter and Lila walked past one of the walls bearing that blinding message. "Hey, Lila," Peter suddenly said.

"What?" Lila asked.

"Do you have a date to the dansu?"

"To the what?" Lila squinted. "To the dance tomorrow?"

"Hai."

Lila groaned. "Speak English, Pete," she chided. "I thought Kiku told you not to speak Wapanese."

"G-gom –" but before Peter could finish that, Lila had clapped a hand to his mouth.

"Speaking Wapanese only makes you look like a half-assed fan of Japanese culture. Learn the language properly before you use it."

Peter nodded frantically. Satisfied, Lila removed her hand. "S-sorry," stammered Peter, blushing furiously. "I was just wondering… if you had a date to tomorrow's dance, yeah."

"Why would you want to know?" Lila crossed her arms.

"I… er… I wanted to know if you… you-you-you were willing to go with me… as friends, if th-that's too awkward." Great. He was blushing like a uke in bed. He might as well have been surrounded by sparkles, he felt that damn moe. There really was no other way to term how he probably looked to Lila; she seemed on the verge of a nosebleed.

"I…" Lila frowned and looked away. "I'd like to go with you, yeah. As friends."

Peter sighed in relief, but he still wasn't sure if he had scored – or if that amendment verified his forever alone status.

* * *

><p>"Mr. Allen, is it?" Satow grinned as he opened the door to see the American Course Coordinator. "Please take off your shoes before entering."<p>

Mr. Allen complied, noticing that Satow had borrowed Kiku's kotatsu. Kane's silhouette could be seen from behind a folded paper screen. A brush painting hung on the wall.

"Kyōsai Kawanabe?" Mr. Allen asked, pointing to the painting. "Hugh and Mary knew him before his death in 1889."

"Indeed?" Satow smiled indulgently. "Do take a seat." He knelt down at the kotatsu; Mr. Allen followed his lead. Kane emerged from the screen with tea. "Ah, you've made my favourite tea-cakes again!" Satow exclaimed to his wife. "I really do love you so."

"Thank you," Kane said bashfully, blushing.

Mr. Allen coughed lightly. "Ah, yes, Ms. Kane," he added, taking a package out of a passing plothole. "Mr. Hugh wanted me to give this to you. Hopefully it'll remind you of your homeland."

Kane slowly undid the wrappings to see several beautiful teacups made of Kyoto enamel. "Thank you so much," she whispered, bowing and retreating respectfully.

"It's no big deal; you're welcome!" Mr. Allen called, before turning to Satow with a grin.

Satow quirked an eyebrow. "I had no idea Mr. Hugh collected Japanese enamel," he remarked.

"He likes ceramics," Mr. Allen said, shrugging. "He has this amazing collection of Chinese and Japanese porcelain. Those enamel cups – made by some bloke named Namikawa in Kyoto – were also kinda part of the collection. He got all of this in the 1800s, mind you, so they're worth small fortunes now."

"We deeply appreciate the kindness and hospitality that you two and the school have shown us," Satow remarked as he sipped his tea. "However… I believe I called you here not for you to present presents to my wife…"

"Yeah, you wanted to tell me more about that clock," Mr. Allen said, nodding.

"Yes. Kiku has taken a look at it, but the design is foreign to him. Maybe if I tell you the origins of the clock… would it help?"

"I don't think it would _hurt_," Mr. Allen pointed out.

"That's what I worry about." Satow steeped his fingers and looked at Mr. Allen shrewdly. His blond moustache quivered slightly. "When she entrusted the clock to me, she wanted as few people to know about its existence. You seem trustworthy enough for me to divulge its secrets to you."

"Whoa there, whoa there," Mr. Allen said suddenly, holding up his hand. "First off, who is 'she'?"

Satow's blue eyes were grave. "Agnes Hill," he replied. "She was a Defective Mary Sue who formerly worked for Lilith Wydenbrooke prior to Lilith's downfall."


	8. A Mid Autumn Night's Fiasco

**Notes:** IAHF has a tumblr. Extras will be posted there (pictures, reblogging weaboostories/hetaliaetiquette/hetafagtips/dumbdeviantart/etcetc, random lessons that may or may not make it into the actual fic, possible spoilers and teasers – list can go on forever). If you have a tumblr, go follow it. I'm just adding my voice to the anti-Hetafag movement /shot

http : / iahf-staff. tumblr. com/

* * *

><p><strong>Part VIII<strong>

"Hughie, wake up. Wake up. Wakey wakey, eggs and bakey." There was a pause. "_Wake up_, Hughie! You're fuckin' dreaming!"

_Mr. Hugh could hear his alter-ego's voice from far away – but somehow it was so much farther away than he'd like. On the other hand, Lilith Wydenbrooke was much too close for comfort. She had always been much too close in his nightmares._

_The _elleth _had been dead for how long now? She still haunted him. Mr. Hugh hated it. He hated her. He hated her for killing Takara. _

_Still, one ill turn seemed to have deserved another. Lilith now haunted his nightmares, her grey eyes glinting with malice._

Leave me alone_, he wanted to tell her. _Stop haunting me. _But he couldn't voice his desires – and she wouldn't have paid attention anyway. Lilith only cared about her own needs and wants, and right now she needed him._

_Maybe that wasn't exactly the best way to put it. She wanted him; she was going to have him whether he liked it or not. Need was what drove her – need for carnal pleasures._

"Come on Hughie, wake up already," Mr. Allen sighed, taking a seat on the bed next to his alter-ego and shaking him gently. "Damn it, why are you such an unexpectedly deep sleeper? I will never understand you." He looked at the clock. "If you don't get up and go to breakfast, Alfred's going to eat everything."

_Mr. Hugh was paralysed in his own dream, unable to act as Lilith alternated between caresses and scratches, kisses and bites. Soft versus hard, loving versus hateful. She stabbed him, yet he felt no pain. She kissed him, but he felt no pleasure._

"I should kick him," Mr. Allen sighed, and went to get a cup of water.

_The blood continued to trickle from the dream-wound. Lilith leered at Mr. Hugh, her dark hair ghosting over his abdomen. "You're mine," she hissed, before biting down –_

Mr. Allen returned with the water and splashed Mr. Hugh with it –

_Suddenly it felt as if he had been doused in cold water –_

"About time," Mr. Allen said, smirking at Mr. Hugh as the other rubbed his eyes blearily and glowered at him. "Sweet dreams?"

"The exact opposite," Mr. Hugh replied, looking distastefully at the stain down his front.

"Lilith molested you in your dreams again?" his alter-ego asked, tilting his head to the side. "How far did she go?"

"Farther than last time," Mr. Hugh replied vaguely. "Emma's awake, right?"

"Mary and Howard are taking her for a stroll in the conservatory," Mr. Allen replied. "But that has nothing to do with your nightmare. What happened?"

From far away, screams could be heard from the stadium as the Axis did their routine gravity testing on the students. It was nice to know that gravity still worked at IAHF, even if every other law of reality went on holiday once in a while.

"The usual. I'm paralysed, and Lilith can't make up her mind whether to be rough or gentle. Although this time she actually stabbed me with a knife."

"That's new," remarked Mr. Allen matter-of-factly. "But come on, Hughie, she can't hurt you. Not even in your dreams. Do you think a four-month-old corpse can invade your dreams? Think again."

"It's still… traumatising…" Mr. Hugh replied with a shudder.

"If she didn't get that far with you in real life, she won't get that far in your dreams unless you let her. This Lilith is a projection of your subconscious. And I have to say; you must have one extremely sexually frustrated subconscious if you're having wet dreams of some _elleth_ taking advantage of y –" Mr. Hugh had clapped a hand to his alter-ego's mouth, his blue eyes wide with what seemed to be a cross between astonishment and anger.

"That was not a wet dream! That was a nightmare! If it was a wet dream, couldn't my subconscious have chosen someone who _wasn't_ torn between killing me and sleeping with me?" Mr. Hugh hissed.

Mr. Allen removed his alter-ego's hand and snickered. "Aw, come on, Hughie. _It's a dream_. She can't hurt you now. I think that if you had a chat with Dr. Froyd, you might interpret this dream differently –"

"You know Dr. Froyd is just going to say that my dreams are expressing my sexuality or whatever his namesake came up with –"

"Well, you've had a very sexual nightmare, so I think it expressed that perfectly." Mr. Allen laughed. "Hughie, your subconscious is telling you to stop doing paperwork and start doing people. Simple as that. You haven't slept with anyone since Takara. That amount of abstinence must be stressful."

"You're one to talk," scoffed Mr. Hugh. "Who's the last person you've slept with, other than Takara when we were sharing a body?"

Mr. Allen coughed and turned pink around the ears. Mr. Hugh raised an eyebrow.

"Don't tell me you slept with Shinbun-kun at your birthday party."

Mr. Allen and Mr. Hugh claimed different birthdays despite technically being the same person. Mr. Allen's birthday was 13 August, the day they debuted in the Hetalia anime. Mr. Hugh's was 22 February, his historical birthday. Strangely enough, 22 February was also the birthday of their Japanese voice actor, who also voiced Gilbert and several other minor characters.

But back to the Course Coordinators. Mr. Allen would neither confirm nor deny that he slept with the loudmouthed reporter (although Loki and Sara claimed he did), so he settled instead for teasing Mr. Hugh about his sexual repression. That was clearly the better pastime.

"This is how I see it, Hughie," he said, as Mr. Hugh started dressing for the day. "You're sexually repressed because you keep on cockblocking yourself – I know you have people trying to get into your pants, so it's not like there's no one to sleep with – and all of that tension only gets resolved in dreams like these. However, the reason why you're dreaming of Lilith having her nasty way with you and not the other way around –"

"You think I would sleep with Lilith? She killed Takara!" Mr. Hugh protested as he buttoned up his starched dress shirt.

"Okay, so the reason why you're not dreaming of fucking Takara –"

"Do you have to be so vulgar about it?"

Mr. Allen threw up his hands. "Okay! The reason why you're not dreaming of _making sweet love_ to Takara is because you're still in that prudish Victorian mindset that equates sex with vulgarity!"

"Sex wasn't that bad back then – how else did I end up having two historical sons? The stork?"

Mr. Allen snorted. "I meant that sex and promiscuity back then weren't as openly discussed and accepted as they are in modern society. For one, we don't cover up piano legs anymore. Women don't have to wear floor-length dresses." He shrugged. "I think you know you need to get laid, but you're also purposefully denying it and demonising your carnal urges. That's why Lilith is the aggressor and you are the victim; you don't want to be held accountable for your own passions."

"And you've been talking to Dr. Froyd again, haven't you?" Mr. Hugh shimmied into a pair of charcoal-grey trousers and started tying his tie.

"So what if I have?" Mr. Allen snickered; his smug expression was clearly reflected over Mr. Hugh's shoulder in the mirror. "And if you're not willing to let Charlie get into your pants, I'm always open –"

"I am _not _a narcissist!" Mr. Hugh snapped, glaring at his alter-ego's reflection in the mirror. "Unlike other people I know, I don't particularly fancy myself!"

"Whatever floats your boat, dearest," cackled Mr. Allen, grinning like a Cheshire cat. Mr. Hugh blushed nonetheless.

"What's for breakfast?" he demanded in an attempt to change the subject.

* * *

><p>When the two arrived in the dining room for breakfast (true to Mr. Allen's predictions, Alfred was eating practically everything in sight), the first thing they noticed was that Gilbert was gloating about something that involved the words 'hiking' and 'streaking'.<p>

Mr. Allen raised an eyebrow at Elisabeta, who seemed to be giggling into her toast. Roderich looked extremely annoyed from behind the sheet music he was reading. Vash looked ready to shoot Gilbert. Arthur was trying to pretend that nothing was happening across the table.

"What's going on, Alfred?" Mr. Hugh asked Matthew as the two Course Coordinators took their seats.

"I'm Matthew, eh," snarled the Canadian. He looked slightly unstable; he was still getting therapy for his hockey rage. People thought that the Richard Riot in Montreal in 1955 was bad? They should have thought again.

"Oh… pardon me." Mr. Hugh coughed. "What's going on, Matthew?"

"They've opened a nudist hiking trail in Germany. Gilbert's excited."

"Explains everything," sniffed Mr. Allen as he nervously eyed Elisabeta's manic grin. "So Gilbert's planning to visit the trail?"

"With Francis and Antonio, yeah," Matthew replied stiffly. "And Elisabeta wants to take her camera and follow them."

"I've heard stories about the German fixation with nude hiking," Mr. Hugh said suddenly. "Didn't the Swiss ban some naked German hikers a while back?"

"Can't be as bad as the Finnish," Norway pointed out as he walked past with some fish and potatoes. "Remember when Tino tried to organise a Nakukymppi event after the students left in June?"

"Don't remind us. In fact, don't bring up the World Naked Bike Ride, either." Mr. Allen snickered and started tucking into his scrambled eggs. "Is Heracles still sick?"

"Might be getting worse," Sadiq Adnan replied from farther down the table. "Not that I care. I hope he stays sick."

"So helpful," scoffed Antonio Carriedo, who was sporting a runny nose.

"That's why you're not in the European Union, you jackass," Lovino Vargas chipped in.

"Ooh, like I'd care to join if you lot go into recession because of that lazy-ass Heracles!" Sadiq exclaimed.

"I can practically _feel _the cold symptoms coming on!" Antonio exclaimed wildly as Lovino flicked part of his omelette at him. "And you guys are such meanies, not buying my cucumbers –"

"Oh my God, Antonio, we already, like, apologised for not, like, buying your cucumbers," Feliks Łukasiewcz snapped. "And besides, it was like totally Ivan's idea."

"I thought they had _E coli_ in them," Ivan Braginski said vaguely. "Oh, well, I think Ludwig's blaming his own sprouts. Still not very cheerful, is it? Especially since that strain does some serious damage to your –"

"People are _eating_ here, you sicko!" Alfred yelled.

Halfway through breakfast, Feliciano entered looking very pleased with himself. "Ludwig and Kiku are coming in later!" he exclaimed cheerily as he hugged his brother (Lovino looked disgruntled and tried to push him away) and took his usual seat. "I'm so happy that Ludwig finally recognised the rebel government in Libya! It was about time he did something!"

"Only cheerful thing to come out of that," sighed Arthur.

"Still no signs of giving up?" Alfred asked him.

"Gaddafi is as batshit insane as ever."

"Cheer up!" Feliciano chirped from across the table. "We've got a Mid-Autumn Dance tonight! I'll be making lots and lots of pasta…"

"You do that," Mr. Allen replied absentmindedly as he took the paper from Shinbun-kun and started reading it. Ludwig and Kiku entered, Kiku apologising as usual as he took a seat next to Arthur.

"Tea?" Arthur asked, smiling at Kiku. "How was the training?"

"Gravity testing is as cathartic as ever, thank you," Kiku replied, nodding as Arthur poured some tea for him. "Fanbrats fall to earth. It's all revenge for badfic. Their screams are music."

"Another Tuesday Morning Haiku by Kiku Honda," Ludwig remarked wryly as Feliciano started heaping his plate with food. "Er, danke Feliciano, but I can serve myself…"

* * *

><p>Before Peter Hawthorne knew it, classes were over and he was staring at his reflection in the mirror half an hour before the Mid-Autumn Dance was scheduled to begin. Stan had let him borrow some of his nicer clothes, and Peter felt more awkward than usual with a tie around his neck.<p>

"You look great! Don't give me that face!" cackled Stan as he grabbed Peter's cheeks and forced him to smile. "Come on, smile a little. Don't blush so hard; you could put England to shame!"

The door banged open and Roger West came striding in. "What's taking so long?" he asked. "Nanise, Sandra, and Nicole are already at the Orientation Hall, Stan."

"I'm just helping Pete look good, bro!" Stan grinned.

Roger shrugged and took a seat on Stanley's bed. "Did you hear about Ivan Stern and Mighty Major J?"

"They had a bad fight the other day, didn't they? Ivan was pissed that MMJ was acting less of a douchebag than he was rumoured to be before," Stanley snickered. "Hey, I don't blame MMJ. It's no wonder that he is the way he is, what with the whole Rome-Wall thing."

"Yes, I would think that if a wall fell on me every time I talked about women in a possessive way, I would probably think twice before doing that again," Roger remarked.

"You know that Terran Hell is taking Emma Markowska to the dance?" Stan added as he forcefully instructed Peter how to cover up the pimples on his forehead. "I mean, she's pretty cute but he is such a douche."

"I don't listen to gossip as much as you," sighed Roger. "You've been talking to Nick, haven't you?"

"Hey, just because Nick is gay doesn't mean I should avoid him. He's really cool!" Stan snapped.

"I'm not saying that you should… how did you even draw that conclusion?" Roger raised both eyebrows. "I will never figure you out."

"You're funny!" Stan laughed. "Ahaha, did you hear about what happened to Princie and Dex?"

"The two elves?"

"_One_ of them is an elf; the other's a pixie. Get it right, bro!" Stan rolled his eyes as Peter tried to comb his hair. "They tried asking out those twins –"

"You have to be more specific. Which twins? There are so many twins in this place that it feels like we're in the Hall of Mirrors," Roger commented drily.

"Aelita and Amitie Elric," Stan replied without batting an eye. "You know, Francesca's adopted sisters."

"_Ohhhhhh_." Roger nodded. "I've heard about Amitie. She's what Ursula Klevin calls a 'weaboo', right?"

Peter felt slightly uncomfortable and decided to shuffle out of the room. He passed by Leon Zhao, who was carrying his scythe as always. Leon seemed to dislike Peter for some reason – his sister Leah said it was because Leon liked Elisabeta as well.

When he met Lila outside the girls' dorm, the first thing he thought was that she wasn't that bad-looking. Kagaya was next to Lila, looking giggly for some inexplicable reason. It could be because Nick Jenkins had just walked past with his date, but Peter couldn't see who said date was.

"You look nice," he said lamely to Lila, who snickered.

"Thanks. You look unexpectedly well-groomed," she remarked wryly. "Come on, let's go."

Kagaya tore her eyes away from Nick to insist they stay behind a little longer. "Fye Acespaid's going to come soon, okay? Did you know he's a kitsune?"

"He doesn't look very much like a kitsune… more like a normal fox. Not quite sure where his other tails went," Lila replied as Rev Olver and Ty Chan walked by, Ty's Ukraine-like chest making quite the racket in their wake.

"But he's so kawaii desu," pouted Kagaya. Lila smacked her friend.

"Do I have to remind you, too? No Wapanese!" she exclaimed exasperatedly.

Fye came loping along, his eyes closed like Feliciano's. Unlike Feliciano, however, he didn't possess the ability to frolic about blindly without bumping into things, and he nearly knocked Georgia Callais to the ground as he approached them.

"Sorry!" he called before stopping in front of Kagaya. "Kagaya, you're here, right?"

"You're pointing at my nose," Kagaya replied, grabbing his hand. "Okay, let's go now!" She practically tugged the poor fox in the direction of the Orientation Hall; their path was lit by golden and red lanterns.

The Orientation Hall was lavishly decorated with lanterns and lights. The windows had been thrown open, exposing the brilliance of the harvest moon. Yao Wang was strutting around in Emperor's robes, telling the myth behind the festival to all who cared to listen.

"There are many different stories behind the origin of the Mid-Autumn Festival, aru," he was saying as Peter and Lila stopped by Hasegawa S. The half-desk student was functioning as a refreshments table, sporting an overwhelming variety of beautifully-crafted mooncakes.

"Which one?" Lila whispered. There were the traditional mooncakes with lotus seed, sweet bean, and jujube pastes, the regional mooncakes with flaky crusts, and the contemporary style mooncakes with jelly crusts and interesting fillings. Alfred had contributed a bright pink ice-cream mooncake that several people were desperately avoiding. Kiku, Thailand, and Vietnam were offering their own traditional mooncakes as well.

"Is that seriously made of gold?" Peter hissed, pointing to the shiniest mooncake of the lot. Kira PandaStarz was hoarding it.

"I've heard that gold-plated mooncakes are really popular," Lila replied. "And there are some with bird's nest fillings –"

"Bird's nest?" echoed Peter.

"Swiftlet saliva, silly," Lila laughed. "I heard about it from Alice Wang. She said that it's supposed to be really good for one's health."

"But that's bird spit!" Peter stared at the birds' nest mooncake sceptically. "Who'd eat bird spit?"

"Rich people," Lila replied, cutting herself a slice. "It's super expensive."

"Considering rich people also eat fish eggs and goose liver, I'm not surprised," Ursula piped up as she walked past with her own slice of mooncake. Peter and Lila rolled their eyes.

Yao was still lecturing people on the story behind the Mid-Autumn Festival. "According to one version of the legend, aru," he was saying when Peter tuned in again, "there once were two young immortals named Houyi and Chang'e. Chang'e was extremely beautiful and attended to the Queen Mother of the West, who was the Jade Emperor's wife. Houyi and Chang'e were married and very happy at first, aru, but other immortals became jealous of Houyi and slandered him in front of the Emperor. Consequently, aru, the two were banished from heaven."

"That's awful," Aki Chung-Feng said, gripping the hand of her boyfriend Heathcliffe Sarutobi.

"But Houyi coped with their banishment and became a skilled archer, aru. However, at this time there were ten suns that lived in a mulberry tree – they were three-legged birds, you see – and every day one of the birds travelled around the world on a carriage. One day, however, all ten birds decided to go together, aru, and ended up burning the Earth. The Emperor of China at this time was Emperor Yao –"

"You?" asked Dex Thomson, grinning.

"Possibly," Yao replied enigmatically. "Anyway, aru, the Emperor commanded Houyi to shoot down all but one of the suns. He did so, and so the Emperor gave Houyi a pill that would grant eternal life on the condition that he pray and fast for a year before taking it. Houyi took the pill home and hid it, but soon he had to leave again, aru. His wife, Chang'e, soon discovered the pill and swallowed it. When her husband returned, he quickly discovered what she had done and started reprimanding her, aru. She flew out of the window and escaped."

"Flew?" Chiara Valenti asked curiously. "That pill let her fly?"

"Yes, aru. Houyi chased her until he came across some very strong winds and had to return to Earth, aru. Chang'e then reached the moon, where she coughed up part of the pill and asked the rabbit that lived on the moon to make another one. Once it did, she would be able to return to Earth, aru."

"That's kinda sad," Heathcliffe said randomly. Aki nodded, wrapping her arms around him.

"Houyi, however, built himself a palace in the sun –"

"He built a house on a bird?" Cid Lawrence Aggabao snickered. Yao disregarded her comment and continued with his story.

"And to this day, husband and wife are still parted, aru. The rabbit is still trying to grind herbs for the pill, aru. But every year during the Mid-Autumn Festival, Houyi visits his wife and makes the moon bright and beautiful."

There was a smattering of applause, but right at that moment the doors to the hall slammed open and Gilbert came racing in, looking rather scared about something.

"What's wrong, Gilbo?" Elisabeta Héderváry called from where she was talking to Charlie Tenterden, Taylor Drews-Garcia, and Franklin Mycroft Livingston. A little ways away, Mary Crawford and Howard the Spy were looking after a slumbering Emma. "Did you get on Mochie's bad side again?"

"It's worse than that!" Gilbert ducked behind Hasegawa S. "That Sparkles chick escaped from the Golag and she's after me!"

* * *

><p>Meanwhile, Mr. Hugh, Mr. Allen, Kiku, Satow, and Kane were gathered around a table. The suitcase sat innocently on the table, and Satow was explaining the clock to Mr. Hugh and Kiku.<p>

"This thing isn't just a clock," he said as he poked at the unresponsive device. "It's something called a Chronotransporter. It's made up of different parts of pirated technology from the…" he frowned. "I don't remember the organisation, but they kill Mary Sues and they helped you lot fight off Lilith's invasion last year."

"The PPC," Mr. Hugh said, tapping the Chronotransporter. "So this thing is made up of different parts of PPC technology?"

"Yes. According to Agnes Hill –"

"Who is Agnes Hill?" Mr. Hugh interrupted.

Kane spoke up. "Agnes Hill was a Defective Mary Sue. That meant she wasn't as pretty or talented as a full-blown Mary Sue. In fact, she may even be considered a normal character by our terms. However, Defectives like Agnes were forced to serve Mary Sues in the League of Mary Sue Factories. Ms. Hill served Lilith."

"Poor girl." Kiku remarked.

"She's dead," Satow chipped in. "After she entrusted the Chronotransporter to us, she was captured and executed by the Mary Sues for treason and being too ugly to live."

Mr. Allen made a scathing noise in the back of his throat. Mr Hugh arched an eyebrow.

"Ernest knew that it was only a matter of time before the Mary Sues would be after us," added Kane. "So he thought that we could go into hiding with the Chronotransporter. Agnes had told us how to work it; we had aimed for Renaissance Italy, but we came here instead. Obviously there seems to be something wrong with either the device or our usage of said device."

"What is the thing supposed to be anyway?" Mr. Hugh asked, poking the trunk gingerly.

"A time machine," Mr. Allen said bluntly. "It's supposed to be some sort of lovechild between the Chronologically Correct Time Device and the Remote Activator. The CCTD ensures precision; the Remote Activator takes one back and forth through time and space."

"But it doesn't create portals. The Chronotransporter's transporting range extends to everyone within this room. It also marks its travellers with trace amounts of caesium so that they can be identified and taken along to the next destination despite not being within the device's range," added Satow.

"You lost me at time machine," Mr. Hugh grumbled, and the others looked at each other with matching 'he's hopeless' looks.

Mr. Allen sighed. "This thing, Hughie, takes people back in time. Or at least, it's supposed to. It's broken because it's off-target. It took Satow and Kane to us instead of Renaissance Italy."

"So you're trying to fix it so you can go to Renaissance Italy," Mr. Hugh echoed.

Satow and Kane nodded. "We have to go into hiding; the Mary Sues want this device back."

"It's PPC technology, perverted into a Mary Sue design," Kiku said thoughtfully, looking at the suitcase. "Maybe someone in the PPC can help you..."

At that moment, the doors to the Orientation Hall burst open again. In charged Sparkles McDesu, flapping her wings irritably and squawking in anger as she scanned the room for her Prussian victim.

"GILBERT, YOU SPARKLY KAWAII DESU NAZI, I WILL KAWAII DESU RAPE YOU UP YOUR KAWAII DESU ASS!" she screeched, causing Joy Fleet to wonder if 'kawaii desu' was code for something.

"Nah, her entire speech is code for something," Brigid Hughes sighed as Sparkles ran through the room like a chicken with her head cut off. Considering that she _was_ a giant rooster...

She inexplicably crashed into the table where the Chronotransporter stood, knocking the trunk to the floor. It hit the ground on a corner in a certain area, sparking a peculiar response from the device itself.

That peculiar response was autopilot. Sparkles McDesu had accidentally turned on the autopilot.

_Analysing device range_, the Chronotransporter said, causing the Course Coordinators, Kiku, Satow, and Kane to look at the trunk fearfully. _Entire room's occupants will be transported. Selecting destination. Time. Location._

"It speaks!" Kiku exclaimed, beautifully stating the obvious.

_Time set to 1619. Location set to Venice, Italy._

"What the heck –" Mr. Allen started to say, but the device had already started to glow. The Bled glow emanating from the Chronotransporter enveloped the entire room, causing students and Staff alike to turn towards it with confused expressions.

_Transporting in three... two... one..._

And before anyone could react, the room started spinning out of control. Some of the girls screamed – even Mighty Major J screamed, but he tried to make it look as if he was coughing.

_Objective_, added the Chronotransporter before all faded to black, _obtain the spy reports of Gerolamo Vano_.

* * *

><p><strong>Notes:<strong> Background on Vano before we dive into the next chapter – Gerolamo Vano was an Italian spy. In fact, he was the Venetian master of spies before his downfall in 1622 or so. He was responsible for the deaths of several Venetian nobles in response to a presumed Spanish conspiracy.

All upcoming information used on Vano will come from _Pistols! Treason! Murder! The Rise and Fall of a Master Spy_ by Jonathan Walker.


	9. La Serenissima

**Notes:** Registration is now closed (but by now I suppose it's an open secret that you can still submit a fanbrat beyond the deadline). I don't want to be swamped by students and therefore unable to provide roles and lines for everyone (unlike the writers of American sitcoms, I try to get everyone lines that they're likely to say). Surely you all will understand (I sometimes get the feeling a lot of you read these just to see if your character appears. Don't worry; I'll try to get them in before the end. Sometimes the plot just calls for a limited major cast, you know?)

* * *

><p><strong>Part IX<strong>

"Something is rotten at the International Academy of Hetalia Fanfiction."

"We noticed." Lucas Arch was not very amused with the situation, even if Jillian the Pikachu had just quoted his favourite Shakespeare play.

"It's fishy," Anya Mae the part-owl yawned, suppressing the urge to regurgitate her breakfast in pellet form and to go to sleep in the middle of the cafeteria. Hey, it wasn't easy being part-owl. Everyone wanted her to deliver their messages. What did she look like, Hedwig?

"There aren't any fish at the breakfast table," Cain Harren said bluntly. "And whatever happened to Lucifer Morningstar?"

"Probably got called back to Hell," Michael Arch said half-heartedly. "As if."

"Did you hear about what he did to Andrew Yugi Kross's cobra?" Cain asked. Michael raised both eyebrows but said nothing.

"Didn't he convince it to sneak into the girls' dorm and steal their clothes?" Lucas sniffed. "So juvenile."

"I don't think he did that; he said that was a joke," Michael pointed out. "I suppose he convinced it to try and scare Mr. Allen or something. Considering the murder mystery thing last year…"

"Luce doesn't even know about the murders –" Lucas began to say, but suddenly the doors to the cafeteria banged open and in ran Jennifer Faye Chang, still wearing a nurse outfit that obviously came from Rose Kirkland, Arthur's female counterpart.

"This just in!" she said loudly, brandishing a copy of the _Bled Chronicles_. "Mysterious disappearances at the Mid-Autumn Dance! Read all about it!"

"Mysterious disappearances? I heard that an entire room of people –"

"And a giant rooster –"

"Yeah, a room of people and a giant rooster disappeared!" Enrique Escatara exclaimed. He had spent last night locked away in his room, because it had been_ that_ time of the month. The G8 had padded his room, relocated his roommate (luckily Aloisio Guerra had figured out early on that his roommate was a werewolf and that he should leave werewolves alone at the full moon if he valued his life), and reinforced the locks on his window and door with silver to prevent him from escaping in wolf-form and biting people. In fact, the entire door had been painted silver, just in case.

"Just read the damn paper," Jennifer insisted, slamming the paper down in front of Lucas Arch.

"I thought you would have been transported," the Angel said frankly as he skimmed through the article. "Did you and Workbitch ditch the dance?"

"He was rearranging Mr. Hugh's files and Merka and I had a report to write on the status of the supply plothole," Jennifer replied matter-of-factly. "What about you? Karen couldn't make it?"

"Yes, unfortunately. I also had some… other things… that I had to tend to. You know, the usual religious things." Lucas shrugged. "Besides, the Mid-Autumn Festival is pagan in origin –"

"Don't diss my culture, bro. That rabbit in the moon is fuckin' legit," Jennifer snapped.

"Whatever floats your Ark," Lucas said lightly as he turned the page and raised the paper to obscure his face. Cain and Michael rolled their eyes and started reading the article on the disappearances on the front page.

**PANIC! AT THE MID-AUTUMN DANCE**, blared the headlines. Underneath that was a picture of the Orientation Hall, which looked as if its inhabitants had indeed left in a hurry.

"I think the only witnesses to this disappearance were Hasegawa S. and the Mochis on duty. Besides Sparkles McDesu, everyone else who disappeared was a human or at least humanoid in form and behaviour," Jennifer explained. "Hasegawa was part inanimate object, and the Mochis were only considered to be sentient food."

"Not like Mochis can give convincing testimonies in English," Cain pointed out dourly. "Did Shinbun actually quote that _Mochi_? I'm pretty sure he's bullshitting this time around…"

"'Meep meepmrp, meep, meep, meepity meep' isn't exactly a convincing testimony," agreed Michael.

Actually, a surprising number of students had been left behind. Agent Anora Jensai, Dorothy Brown, Nemo, Gillyflower Caulfray, Roberta Steel, Cuddles, Ivan Stern, Zariana-Sylvia Middleford, Shoste Thermo (she apparently had argued with her boyfriend Blaise Asmodée and had stubbornly refused to go to the dance with him), Christine Blacke, and Docter Xanax Uvu were some of the students who had not disappeared. Life at IAHF seemed as if it would continue as scheduled, even if more Staff members found themselves subbing in for the absent teachers.

Fortunately, it seemed that the only Nations who disappeared were the 'normal' Nations, along with Chibitalia and Holy Roman Empire. Even then, some of the Nordics, the Baltic Trio, Cuba, Monaco, and Peter Kirkland had stayed behind. Unfortunately, 'normal' Nations made up the majority of the teaching staff.

Life went on.

* * *

><p>On an auspicious winter day in the year 1619, Diego Gomez and Gerolamo Vano stood before the Doge of Venice and the Inquisitors of State. Zuan Battista Padavin, secretary to the Inquisitors, was taking notes off to the side.<p>

Right before Gomez could assert his services and hand over his honour to the Republic of Venice, a commotion occurred just outside the meeting room's doors.

"This is why we don't have dances," someone was saying – but of course, the Venetians could not understand them. The Doge motioned for Padavin to fetch the guards.

Meanwhile, the attendees of the Mid-Autumn Dance were gathered outside the meeting room wondering why they were there.

"I wonder if we can go on a gondola ride!" Kagaya squealed, practically bouncing up and down the corridors. Elaine the tourist was gleefully taking pictures (passerby wondered if her camera was some sort of devilish mechanism, since it flashed so obnoxiously).

Murmurs of gondola rides spread through the students. Chibitalia facepalmed.

"Is that all we're known for?" the small Italian boy demanded, tugging at Feliciano's trousers petulantly. Feliciano shrugged.

"I dunno, but let's go see if that pasta place is still open! I don't think they'll have invented carbonara sauce yet, but it's worth a look!"

At that, the murmurs of everything they could do in post-Renaissance Italy (someone insisted they hunt down Michaelangelo; someone else countered that with stealing the Mona Lisa) intensified.

"QUIET!" bellowed Ludwig. Inside the meeting room, the Doge nearly jumped out of his seat and wondered why Padavin was taking so long. "Why don't we move out of here before we decide on what to do? I suspect security will be called any minute –"

"Speak of the devil!" Alfred exclaimed, pointing to the guards that were headed their way. The IAHF group took that as a good sign to get the hell out of the building.

Padavin strode back into the meeting room as the intruders left (very loudly, too; it seemed as if a whole circus had been outside the meeting room doors) and calmly took his seat.

"Are they gone?" the Doge asked him in Venetian.

Padavin nodded. "Seems like a group of students," he said as he resumed his note taking.

"Students?" one of the Inquisitors echoed.

"Foreign students, by their appearances." At that, Diego Gomez quaked a little. "Not sure where they hail from, though. Some of them looked feminine, so I suspect that the male students have brought along their wives…"

The others looked at each other, unsure of what to make of the odd situation.

Meanwhile, as soon as the students and Staff had cleared the building, they were greeted with a wide plaza, extending all the way down to two columns and a blue lagoon. Atop the columns stood the patron saints of Venice, staring formidably down at passerby. Arthur took away Elaine's camera before she could blind any locals.

"Venice, the Queen of the Adriatic!" Mr. Hugh sighed, sounding very much like a lovesick teenage girl as he looked over at the columns. "Its patron saint is St. Mark; St. Mark's symbol is a winged lion. Hence the lion atop the eastern column –"

"This is the Piazzetta di San Marco!" exclaimed Feliciano suddenly. "We seemed to have left the Doge's Palace. Look, see the distinctive façade? They call that a gothic arcade. Up there is the loggia." Everyone stared at him incredulously. Since when did Feliciano turn into a know-it-all?

Well, he _was_ Italia _Veneziano_…

"We seemed to have arrived when it was still a separate Republic," Mr. Allen observed, shivering slightly in the cold. People hurried to and fro, carrying presents and pausing occasionally to look at nativity scenes. Some people stopped to stare at _them_, since they _were_ in a huge group and dressed inappropriately.

"La Serenissima!" Chibitalia chirped, pointing to one of the flags of the Republic. "Right now Venice is the Serene Republic, and a major trading centre for the Adriatic and the Eastern Mediterranean. In order for goods to get from the Eastern Mediterranean to the Western Mediterranean, you had to use a Venetian-controlled route. That's one reason why a lot of other Italian city-states didn't like Venice much."

"Yeah," scoffed Lovino. "You selfish brat."

"Lovi, don't say that to Chibitalia!" pouted Feliciano. "Does anyone remember what happened in history around this time?"

"I remember that the Hapsburgs were controlling Milan at this time," Antonio said thoughtfully, glaring at Francis. "Remember the fight over the custody of Chibitalia? We Hapsburgs so totally kicked your ass –"

"Vas te faire foutre; you had too many alliances. I mean… you had Roderich, Sadiq,_ and_ that old Vatican guy backing you up…"

"We don't need a repeat!" Chibitalia snapped. "What else happened in history during this time?"

"I controlled Naples!" Antonio chirped, poking Lovino. The Southern Italian smacked him.

"Vaffanculo!" he hissed, causing Antonio to snigger and the Spamano fangirls to cheer.

Chibitalia looked to be on the verge of facepalming. "What else?" he demanded.

"The Thirty Years' War started in 1618," Holy Roman Empire answered hastily. "It began with the Defenestration of Prague in Bohemia – 'defenestration' is just a fancy term for 'throwing people out of windows'… but anyway, the war ended with crippling damage done to my lands and my people…"

"But right now, we don't know that," Roderich cut in before Chibitalia could react. "Everyone's just mustering troops. Antonio wanted to send reinforcements to me, but to do that he would have had to pass through Venice. The Venetians feared that."

"They were paranoid of basically anything that could possibly weaken them, because they barely escaped the wars that ended the Renaissance," Chibitalia asserted. "I mean, around this time people talked about a Spanish conspiracy to undermine Venetian trading by creating a separate route through Milan."

Ludwig coughed. "Gut, now that everyone in Venice knows we're here and we know what's going on in their time, I propose we figure out some way to cope with our situation! Is the device working?"

All eyes turned to Satow, Kane, and the Course Coordinators. "Er… why don't we first figure out where to stay?" Mr. Allen suggested. "How will we get food and supplies? And more importantly – how do we stop drawing attention to ourselves with our horrendously anachronistic attire?" He cast some doubtful glances at the clothes the Venetians were wearing.

"Ew… lace ruffs," whined Mighty Major J.

"That's an excellent idea!" Mr. Hugh cut in before the students could complain about having to wear starched ruffs. "We're already confusing people with our presence; we don't need to stick out like sore thumbs – say, speaking of sore thumbs, has anyone seen Sparkles McDesu?"

"Or Gilbert Beilschmidt?" Elisabeta piped up. Feliciano and Chibitalia were trying to figure out how much it would cost to get period clothing for everyone.

"I suspect she's chasing him around the city," Roderich sighed. "Feliciano, do you remember any reputable tailors around here? I would like to stop getting awkward stares from passerby."

"I seem to remember a good Venetian tailor…" Feliciano said vaguely, "Although I could be wrong by a couple of centuries… Either way, we'd be too much for him. We'll have to split up and go to different shops!"

"That seems reasonable," Kiku replied calmly. "Raise your hands if you can speak Italian."

"Preferably Venetian," Chibitalia chipped in, "but I suppose few people learn that nowadays. Modern Italian comes from Tuscan with elements of Sardinian, and they _say_ Venetian's only a dialect. But that's not true." People vaguely wondered how Chibitalia had suddenly become so knowledgeable.

"We can say we come from Tuscany," Lovino snapped, raising his hand.

"Well, Chibitalia and I still remember Venetian," Feliciano replied, raising his hand. "Right, Chibitalia?"

"Si!" Chibitalia exclaimed, raising his hand as well. Howard the Spy and Mary raised their hands for Italian; so did Seborga, Mr. Hugh, and several students.

"All right, then," Kiku said, nodding. "Everyone, make sure you stay with someone who knows Italian. We'll meet up again at St. Mark's Basilica," he pointed to the church at the other end of the Piazza San Marco, "after everyone gets outfitted. Then we'll discuss finding shelter and food."

"We need a time," Ludwig chipped in. "See that clock tower at the north end of the Piazza? In a moment, we'll go check for the time, but once we do everyone needs to be back at the Basilica in four hours. Otherwise you'll be left behind. Now go!"

As the students and Staff dispersed, Satow and Kane stayed with the Course Coordinators. "So, why were we sent back here?" Mr. Hugh asked as Mary handed Emma to him before departing with some students who were clamouring for gondola rides. Emma was babbling incoherently, her big blue eyes looking about her with wonder.

"The Chronotransporter wants reports written by a man named Gerolamo Vano," Satow said immediately. "We don't know who he is or why he is important. The device won't tell us. In fact, it seems to want to betray us as much as we want to prevent it from getting those reports."

"We know that Vano was – er, _is_ – a spy," Mr. Allen pointed out as they left the Piazetta to check the time on the clock tower. "Other than that, who the hell was he and why would the Chronotransporter want to steal his reports?"

They looked suspiciously at the trunk. The trunk was silent, exuding an aura of plotting.

"It's Christmas, I think," Mr. Hugh said suddenly. "We're in Venice, on Christmas. Do you think they'll be hosting Carnival soon?"

"Carnival happens two weeks before Ash Wednesday, which is usually somewhere in February or March, depending on the year," Satow pointed out. "The earliest it could happen would be late January, and the latest would be February."

"I hope we can keep the Chronotransporter at bay for that long; I'd love to see the Carnival," Mr. Hugh noted dreamily. Mr. Allen snickered.

"If Venezia was a Hetalian personification, you'd be madly in love with her," he remarked, causing Mr. Hugh to smack him.

* * *

><p>Peter Hawthorne looked about him in awe, only half-listening to Mary Crawford as she expertly led them through semi-crowded streets.<p>

"Venice is divided into six areas, also known as sestiere. They are: Cannaregio, San Polo, Dorsoduro, Santa Croce, San Marco, and Castello. Each sestiere is administered by a procurator and staff. There are seventy parishes in Venice as of now, but eventually when Napoleon conquers the Republic he will reduce it to thirty-eight. Houses in each sestiere have different numbering systems, and they're all very confusing."

"What about the gondolas?" Lila asked eagerly. They were approaching a bridge now; Mary seemed intent on steering them to the Grand Canal.

"Gondolas are a major form of transportation at this time in Venice," Mary replied as they crossed the bridge. "There are around eight to ten thousand gondolas during this time, and they are different from the modern gondola in shape. See?" A gondola had just passed by underneath them; the students couldn't tell who was in the gondola because of the small cabin. "That cabin is called a felze; it was eliminated eventually because it blocked the view."

"Why _is_ it there?" Kagaya demanded. "I wanna see who's inside!"

"But the people inside don't want to see you," Ursula pointed out snidely as the gondolier rowed away.

"The historical gondola has a lower prow and a higher ferro. The ferro is that metal design at the front; the curved part represents the Doge's cap or the Grand Canal and the six teeth represent the sestieres. That break between the teeth and the curve probably represents the Rialto Bridge," Mary continued as they emerged from a footpath to the banks of the Grand Canal. "Look, we can't get a gondola ride in historically inaccurate clothing – people are going to talk. Let's go find a tailor or something… hopefully there will be one open today."

"Why would you say that?" Kira PandaStarz demanded, jerking herself out of a daydream where she was riding a gondola down the Grand Canal with Peter Kirkland.

"It's Christmas," Mary replied, leading them into a tailor's shop.

* * *

><p><strong>Notes:<strong> Bear with me here, since pretty much all that I know about Venice comes from the Venetian hotel in Vegas and a lot of books. Oh, and Wikipedia.  
>So if you spot a mistake, feel free to tell me.<p> 


	10. Meet Antonio Foscarini

**Notes:** Merf, sorry for being short and choppy and full of derp. Maybe once I get my thoughts squared away again I can write a more coherent chapter.  
>Anyways, apparently rumour has it that someone's writing another school for educating Hetaliatards. I've already concritted their story, and really I'm a bit torn on the whole issue. The writing sucks, yes, but there is room for improvement and I'm not about to flip and say OMG IT'S MY IDEA NO STEALING because I stole the OFU idea from misscam in the first place. Let's just see how the other turns out.<br>Without further ado, here's the long-anticipated chapter.

* * *

><p><strong>Part X<strong>

Once the initial paranoia wore off, the students and staff stuck in Venice started fully appreciating the timeless city.

Yes, indeed Venice was timeless. The only clock that kept accurate time was the one embedded into the Chronotransporter, and even that clock got a bit confused once in a while. Time travel into a city notorious for horrible timekeeping meant double the bewilderment.

The second most accurate clock would probably be the clock tower in the Piazza San Marco, and that one didn't even have a minute hand. All the students knew was that they arrived when a bell rang from St. Mark's Campanile – it was the _Nona_, which sounded around noontime. From there they were on their own to determine what four o'clock looked like in 1600s Venice.

Winter had to be taken into account. The days were short – they were getting longer, but they were still short – so a typical workday would probably end whenever darkness fell, regardless of time. Most students thought that sunset would be a good indication to head back to the Piazza San Marco, even if sunset usually didn't occur at four o'clock PM.

But in the meantime, the students and Staff took the opportunity to explore. Venice was a loud and boisterous city, full of sights, sounds, and even smells. At this time, Venice (and all the other great cities of Europe) could be compared to a contemporary desert city, full of open-air bazaars and merchants bringing in goods from all over the world. Even on Christmas day, the city was alive with merchants peddling their wares, carollers singing songs, and craftspeople working in the smithy or at the loom.

Peter Hawthorne, now dressed appropriately in period attire, followed his group as they scrambled down to the quay to claim some gondolas. Mary had mysteriously managed to procure some money (even 17th century Venice had its plotholes) and paid the nearby gondoliers to take them on a trip up the Grand Canal.

At the same time, Andy Kirk and Sara Parker had stopped to listen to an orphan child choir a couple blocks away from the Rialto. Seborga, their guide to the city, translated some lyrics for them and the rest of the group.

"It's a Christmas song, of course. Singing's an important part of the Venetian church liturgy," the Italian micronation pointed out. "Venice is famous for its orphan choirs."

As beautiful as the voices were, they clashed with the noise of the rest of the city. Everywhere else the discordant voices of merchants, gossipers, and workers resounded. Music and noise mixed so much in Venice that the lines between them slipped and blurred.

Not too far away from the choir, Violet Rein and Elise Rayn had been nearly accosted by a woman selling jugs; Violet had taken pity on her and bought a little one for four soldi. Elise had to show her the difference between a ducat and a soldi – one ducat was worth 124 soldi, so had Violet given the woman four ducats for a little jug, she probably would have felt very cheated afterwards. Especially since one soldo could buy someone an oyster, and a little over one soldo bought an egg.

Venetians could catch oysters. They couldn't catch chickens. Although, in the case of Sparkles McDesu, yes they could.

Speaking of Sparkles McDesu, her quarry had managed to take shelter in the waters of the Grand Canal. Gilbert Beilschmidt was now swimming up to the Rialto Bridge, leaving an indignant giant rooster spluttering far behind him. Checking to make sure that the coast was clear, the Prussian slipped out of the water and into an alley between two buildings at one end of the bridge. He was so preoccupied with making sure that Sparkles wasn't following him that he didn't notice Ludwig standing at the end of the alley until he bumped into him.

"Gilbert! What the –" Ludwig stared at him incredulously. Next to the German, Feliciano was trying to buy some pasta. The Rialto was known for its markets, after all. "Why are you all wet?"

"Swam up the Grand Canal," Gilbert panted, looking wildly about. "The crazy chicken's after me!" He paused. "Why are you dressed so funnily? You look like a clown!"

"You're not in period clothing, dummkopf," Ludwig ground out. "Quick, there's a tailor on the other side of the Rialto Bridge. We might be able to take you there after Feliciano gets his pasta."

"Oh, there you are!" Roderich and Elisabeta had suddenly appeared with bunches of flowers. Elisabeta snorted at Gilbert's sodden appearance.

"What did you do, fall into the Grand Canal?" she demanded.

"Close!" Gilbert puffed his chest slightly. "I _swam_ the Grand Canal!"

"That insufferable rooster is still following you, no doubt," Roderich sighed. "We may have to disguise you. Here." The Austrian grabbed several flowers and expertly wove a garland from them, wrapping the flower chain around Gilbert's head. "You know we've arrived in Venice before plumbing systems were invented, ja? So you've basically been swimming in an open sewer."

Gilbert flushed, although it was hard to tell because his face was obscured by flowers. "Schnause!" he growled.

Even Ludwig had to snort at Gilbert's ridiculous appearance. "We're taking him to the tailor," he said as Feliciano finally secured himself some macaroni. The Italian was grinning brightly from ear to ear.

The group set off to find the tailor. On their way there, they passed by Seychelles, who was holding a string of fish that she had brought from the market on the Campo della Pescheria. Arthur was complaining about the smell; Francis was complaining about Arthur being a spoilsport. Alfred looked suitably bored.

"Bloody hell, Seychelles, do you really have to drag the fish along? The odour's going to damage my olfactory faculties!" Arthur snapped as Alfred stopped Feliciano to see if he had anything good to eat. Ludwig pulled Feliciano away from the American at Gilbert's insistence; the Prussian obviously hated having flowers wrapped around his head.

Francis snickered at Gilbert as the other group walked away. "Arthur, Arthur, just because you get rained on all the time doesn't mean you should rain on other people's parades," he chided as they walked along the quay. Up ahead, Howard the Spy was talking to an old man dressed in richly-coloured clothes.

"Who's he?" Alfred asked, pointing to the man.

"Obviously someone important and rich," snapped Arthur. "Back then you couldn't wear just any colour, you know. Certain fabric colours were restricted to the aristocracy and royalty. At one point the nobility tried to restrict the lower classes to monochromatic outfits, starting a fad of 'slashing' clothes to show different colours."

"Jeez, Artie, how was I supposed to know? Don't talk to me like that!" Alfred pouted. He paused. "Where's Matthew?"

"Qui?" Francis asked. Arthur was squinting at the old man, looking thoughtful.

"Matthew, my brother," Alfred repeated slowly.

"I'm right here, eh," another voice piped up, and Matthew Williams sidled over from a nearby stall where he had been admiring some hand-woven baskets. Kumajiro took the opportunity to pilfer one of Seychelles's fish.

"Oh, good, I thought you had disappeared on me or something," Alfred sighed, unaware of the irony exuding from that statement. The group approached Howard, who was their guide and translator. The old man was still talking to Howard; the two seemed to have noticed Arthur and Francis's group.

"Who is he?" Arthur asked Howard, gesturing to the man. Howard laughed slightly and translated for the man. The man chuckled and answered Howard, who promptly translated for Arthur and the rest.

"He is Antonio Foscarini, a former Venetian ambassador to England and France."

Francis coughed. "No wonder he looked familiar!" he exclaimed; Arthur slapped a hand to his forehead.

"I was thinking the same thing!" he groaned. "Foscarini, is it? I'm delighted to meet you again!"

The man raised an eyebrow. "We have met before?" he asked in thickly accented English. Arthur looked at Francis sharply, but Francis looked just as confused.

"I get the feeling that he doesn't know about us," the Frenchman muttered.

"It's an alternate timeline, isn't it?" Alfred exclaimed. "A history without us as Nations! This is so cool!"

"It's also potentially problematic," Matthew pointed out quietly, watching Foscarini and Howard talk.

Arthur shrugged. "You have a point, Matthew, but I'm intrigued. How does it feel to be simply human?"

Howard didn't seem to be translating their conversation for Foscarini, though, because the former ambassador didn't look that confused. Alfred muttered something about going to an embassy to see if anyone recognised him there.

"Hey, Foscarini," he called, "how do you get to the American Embassy?"

"No, you ruddy Yank! The United States didn't exist at this time. You're supposed to ask for the English Embassy," Arthur snapped. Howard translated for Foscarini, who naturally started looking confused.

"In any case, I think I know where the French Embassy is," Francis said loudly as Alfred complained about not being English. "Matthew and Seychelles can come with me."

"I'm pretty sure I had custody of Matthew at this point!" Arthur growled.

"Get your facts right, rosbif! He was New France until 1763, and right now it's 1619." Francis sniffed and walked away, leaving Arthur, Howard, and Alfred with Antonio Foscarini.

"So, may we get directions to the English Embassy?" Arthur asked sweetly.

"I can take you there," Foscarini replied rather slowly, with all the air of someone being forced to speak a language he didn't understand to a bunch of people he didn't understand. And that may be the case here.

So the group headed for the English Embassy in Venice. As they went, Alfred asked why Venice had embassies despite being a city. Arthur snapped at him for not listening to the historical background.

"Right now Venice is a republic," lectured the Briton. "It's completely separate from the other states in Italy, and it was extremely wealthy and powerful. Only the most powerful Nations at this time could send ambassadors. Lesser states sent residents; the Pope sent nuncios. This is why there's a French Embassy, a Spanish Embassy, and an English Embassy, but a Mantuan Residence. Mantua was only a lesser state and therefore could not send an ambassador."

"That's confusing," Alfred groaned.

"That's how diplomacy worked back then." Arthur shrugged and watched several students sail by in a fleet of gondolas.

* * *

><p>"Lucas! What happened?" Karen DuLay called as she raced out of the portal into the IAHF library. Lucas Arch was sitting at a table talking to the remaining members of the Group of Eight and several other students. "I heard something about a mass disappearance, so naturally I got worried and –" she was cut off when Lucas got up and hugged her reassuringly.<p>

"Don't worry; not everyone disappeared," her angelic boyfriend said calmly. "A majority of the teaching Staff did, though, so –" he in turn was cut off by Karen's hyperventilating.

"Oh Mein Gott! Is Ludwig okay? Did he disappear? I'm so worried for him now…"

"Ludwig did disappear, but we've been praying for his safety," Lucas said soothingly, patting Karen's back.

"I don't pray," snapped Jennifer from across the table. "I beam happy thoughts in certain directions."

Lucas rolled his eyes. "We're still trying to figure out what happened exactly. Ninja Kiku got us footage of what happened, but it's rather confusing. See?" He motioned to Merka, who clicked a button on a remote. The portable television flickered to life, showing footage from video cameras in the Orientation Hall. "There's a giant chicken, a suitcase, and lots of Bled light. That makes no sense."

"I hope the chicken didn't eat everyone," Karen replied. Lucas and Dorothy Brown shot her odd looks.

"Why would you say that?" Cain Harren asked.

Karen giggled. "Ever seen a man eating chicken?" Everyone accordingly groaned.

"You're so punny," Kriss grumbled. "Next, we have audio from Hasegawa S., who witnessed the disappearance." She clicked another button, and the half-desk's voice filled the air. Monaco sent them an accusatory glare from her desk, but did nothing to intervene.

After a few moments of the desk rambling about how strange the disappearance was, the tale began. Karen listened with wide eyes.

"_I was sitting there all prettily, you know, with all the nice moon cakes arranged on my surface – I know, sounds wrong, right? – when all of a sudden this giant chicken burst into the room. No wait, it was a giant rooster. Chicken. Rooster. Whatever. Anyway, the giant poultry ran into the room squawking about Gilbert. I think it said something along the lines of 'kawaii desu Nazis' and 'kawaii desu rape', but both of those are oxymorons. I mean, since when were Nazis cute? You know, unless they're Nazi kittens. But even then that sounds awful because then the Nazi kittens would pick on the Jewish kittens, which eat kosher mice – I'M JOKING! STOP GLARING AT ME LIKE THAT! I'M SORRY! –"_

"Nazi kittens?" echoed Karen. "Like those cats that have Hitler 'staches?"

"Let's not go into that," Merka grumbled, fast-forwarding through the Nazi kitten rant. "Nazis are never cute. They're only funny when they're in Hipster Hitler or something. Moving on."

"_Anyway, Giant Poultry bumps into a table and knocks this suitcase thingy to the floor. I have no freaking idea what it is, but the thing must've been some evil mechanical device thingy because it started talking and glowing Bled. I mean, obviously anything that glows Bled is evil, right? But I'm rambling again. Back to the story! The thing said something about transporting things, set the date to 1619 and the location to Venice, and did some crazy shit to the other people because some of the girls were screaming and everyone was like… disappearing. I don't even know. But the last thing I heard from the suitcase before it disappeared was something about getting reports from some dude… Vano or something. I think his name was Vano. Name doesn't ring a bell, but whatever."_

"What we can deduce is that something made the students and Staff disappear," Dorothy explained as Merka turned off the telly. "Maybe back in time, since it mentioned a date and a location. We have no idea what the suitcase contained. In fact, the two people who were most often seen with the suitcase disappeared with it along with the others, and we don't know much about them, either."

"They said their names were Ernest Satow and Takeda Kane," Jennifer pointed out. "Work's done some background checks on them."

"Is there anything he _can't_ do?" Kriss demanded.

"Fly a kite during a thunderstorm," Jennifer replied immediately.

"Who'd do _that_?" Kriss scoffed.

"According to legend, Benjamin Franklin," Merka said. "But _Mythbusters _thinks that he couldn't have."

"Yeah, yeah, whatever!" Karen said loudly. "What about the background checks, then? What'd you find out?"

Jennifer pulled out a folder. "Ernest Satow was a British diplomat to Japan," she said.

"Just like Mr. Hugh!" Yuki-rin noted randomly.

"He was Mr. Hugh's successor, actually," Jennifer pointed out. "He had previously been a British diplomat to Siam, Uruguay, and Morocco, and he would later serve in China, but he was better known for his activities in Japan anyway because he wrote a book called _A Diplomat in Japan_."

"Wasn't Mary Crawford's book called _A Diplomat's Wife in Japan_?" Merka asked, snorting. "They need to come up with better book titles."

"I think Satow should have titled his book _The Weaboo Diaries_ or something," Jennifer continued, "because he was such a rabid Japanophile that he ended up marrying a Japanese woman. That would be Takeda Kane – or Kane Takeda, as she would be known in the West, but I suspect our version of Kane has her name order reversed."

"It_ must_ be significant," Kriss deadpanned. "Which other Japanese chick do we know whose name sounds like Takeda?"

Everyone chose not to dignify that with an answer, so Jennifer carried on. "Let's see… he'd be considered a Victorian weaboo, but to be a Victorian weaboo would still be better than a modern weaboo. In fact, Victorian weaboos are probably just considered Japanologists in our times because they study more than just anime and manga. But I'm going off track, so moving on. Satow did some cool things like becoming fluent in Japanese, founding the Asiatic Society of Japan, and finishing Mr. Hugh's work on the Anglo-Japanese Treaty of Commerce and Navigation. He just _barely_ missed out on becoming the first British Ambassador to Japan." She skipped a couple of pages. "Once again, there's something strange going on with this guy because he's more famous in Japan than in Britain. He got to be a Privy Councillor, and some other cool stuff happened… blah, blah, blah… Anyways, he could arguably be one of the first Westerners to really understand the 'Japanese spirit' – you know, the Bushido code and stuff –"

"Enough about Satow, what about Kane?" Kriss demanded.

"Not much to say about her other than she was a commoner and satow couldn't marry her as a diplomat," Jennifer replied. "They had two kids, and one of them became a botanist and founded the Japan Alpine Club. They named some memorial hall after the kid because he was just that cool."

"Cheerful," Lucas groaned. "Still doesn't explain what they were doing at our school and why they were carrying some evil suitcase with them."

"That's the puzzling part," agreed the others.

* * *

><p>The time travellers met up at sundown at St. Mark's Basilica. The <em>Marangona<em>, the biggest bell on St. Mark's Campanile, had just rung to signal the end of the working day.

"Everyone's properly dressed?" Ludwig demanded. "Gut, gut. Now, we must figure out where to stay for the night."

"Wait a moment!" Midori Harrison exclaimed, her voice sounding like a wind chime. It even had that nice metallic tinkle to it. "Where's Arthur?"

"And Alfred and Francis!" Dana exclaimed.

"Has anyone seen Howard?" Mary Crawford called.

"Not since earlier this afternoon," Roderich replied, "when we were on our way to the tailor to get Gilbert some clothes."

"Speaking of which, where's that evil rooster?" Andy Kirk asked loudly.

"Probably got caught by one of the _luganegheri_," Lovino snorted. "You know, the sausage-makers. Good riddance."

"I suspect the Venetians will be supplied with enough chicken sausages to last them until Lent," snickered Mary.

At that moment, Howard, Arthur, and Alfred appeared. "Francis, Matthew, and Seychelles went to the French Embassy," Arthur reported.

"And Howard pulled some strings with this noble guy so we can go live at his place!" Alfred added excitedly.

"Noble guy?" Ludwig demanded, as the students begged Alfred for details.

"His name is Antonio Foscarini, and his family owns the Palazzo Foscarini. It's in the Dorsoduro district –" Arthur was cut off by Feliciano, who looked excited about actually contributing more than pasta to a discussion.

"It's opposite the Church of Santa Maria dei Carmini, isn't it?" Feliciano exclaimed. "It's a pretty palace! I think I visited it once; it's got a big library and a pretty garden!"

"Yeah, so basically the Foscarini guy's letting us stay at his house because he's a nice person and stuff," Alfred replied. "I think he's running for the Venetian Senate or something, but the Venetian government is super confusing."

"How so? It's only made up of six legislatures that check the Doge's power," Chibitalia demanded as the group started heading away from the Piazza San Marco once more. Dorsoduro was located in the south-western side of the city, across the Grand Canal. As the sun set over Venice, some of the more sentimental students stopped to admire how the waters of the canals reflected the dramatic sunset. Elaine was cursing herself for not bringing extra cameras and batteries.

Mr. Hugh and Mr. Allen walked alongside Satow and Kane as the group ventured west towards Dorsoduro, crossing several streets and bridges along the way. Now that they weren't as conspicuous, people were not looking at them oddly anymore. "It's a nice place, don't you think?" Mr. Hugh noted as he shook off Charlie Tenterden for the umpteenth time. "I've always loved this city."

"It's pretty," agreed Mr. Allen noncommittally. He turned to Satow and Kane. "Is the Chronotransporter talking?"

"Still negative," Satow sighed. "It still doesn't want to tell me why it wants to steal Vano's reports, but I think it was a little surprised when Alfred announced that we were going to stay at the Palazzo Foscarini. It twitched."

"Sentient time machines are scary," Mr. Allen remarked. "I wonder why it cared about the Palazzo Foscarini, though."

"It might not be the house," Kane pointed out. "It could be the owner. Antonio Foscarini. Maybe he's important."

_Well, of course he's important_, snapped the Chronotransporter suddenly.

"We were wondering if you'd fallen mute," Mr. Allen retorted.

_You think you're so witty_, grumbled the time machine. _Foscarini is extremely important. He's the reason behind the objective. In any case, there may have been a couple of miscalculations_.

"Miscalculations?" echoed Mr. Allen.

"People are staring. Can we talk about this later?" Mr. Hugh added. They certainly looked out of place once more, talking to a sentient trunk.

_It's better to talk about it in a crowded area_, reasoned the Chronotransporter. _That way our words are drowned out in the noise. Anyway, there have been several miscalculations. We are a year or two short of the actual action._

"What the bloody hell are you talking about?" Mr. Hugh snapped as they crossed the Grand Canal via bridge. "What is this 'actual action' that you're babbling about? Explain."

_To do that would give away the reason why I need to obtain Gerolamo Vano's reports, no_? If the Chronotransporter had possessed eyebrows, it would have quirked them amusedly. _I am not prepared to divulge that information just yet. All you need to know is that I might transport us ahead a year or two._

"You could at least take us to Carnival," suggested Mr. Hugh. Mr. Allen elbowed him. "Hey! Last time I came here was during the summer; I missed Carnival!"

_I could_, the Chronotransporter drawled, _or you can stay a month or two in 1619. A little historical camping never hurt anyone, especially when they get to hide out in a palace. I don't see why you're complaining. _

"I don't like your attitude," sniffed Mr. Hugh.

_I think you should show some respect to a device that decides your fate here_, snapped the time machine. _I'm a wanted machine. The Mary Sues are trying to find me so they can run around history and mess with it to suit their evil needs_.

"Just when we thought we were rid of them for good…" Mr. Allen grumbled, but the Chronotransporter wasn't finished.

_I think some of the survivors from that attack last year and some other members of the League of Mary Sue Factories are on the lookout for me. Some may even be in Venice right now. If you value your life and your chance to return to your school, you're going to help me attain my objectives. There's no other way to do it._

"This is blackmail!" hissed Mr. Allen, but the Chronotransporter had fallen silent. "Damn you, you sneaky little suitcase!"

"I guess we'll have to put up with it for now," Mr. Hugh pointed out resignedly. "It has a point. I want to get back to IAHF, and somehow I get this feeling that sabotaging the Vano bloke will help our host in some way. I still don't like this Chronotransporter thingy's attitude, but I think we can trust it."

"For now," pointed out Mr. Allen sourly. Mr. Hugh nodded.

"Yes, for now."


	11. Food is Always Appropriate

**Notes:** Do not spoil me for the last Harry Potter movie, damnit. This is the only bad thing about CSSSA; I can't leave campus to watch it.  
>If you have some sort of burning question for Mr. Hugh... well, he has (by popular demand) an ask Tumblr now. For those who don't know, ask Tumblrs screencap questions and <em>draw<em> responses. Find Hughie's here: http : / / askmrhugh. tumblr. com /  
>Bear with me here in the description of Palazzo Foscarini. I will most likely have BSed a majority of its layout and appearance, because it has been renovated since the 17th century and things are likely to be different.<p>

* * *

><p><strong>Part XI<strong>

"No! This is a girls only room! No penises allowed!"

Peter Hawthorne stared at the door. For the first time since noon, he felt stupid for standing around in a ruff.

"But... but I thought..." he started to say, but he trailed off stupidly. What did he think? His brain was blanker than a whiteboard after a person with OCD had erased it.

"Aren't you on the other side of the palazzo?" Ursula Klevins had opened the door and peered out, staring at him accusingly. She promptly slammed the door in his face.

Palazzo Foscarini was a palace consisting of a series of buildings arranged in an L shape. True to Feliciano's ramblings, it sported a garden and a library. It would be expanded a century later, but even in its current state the house was somehow capable of fitting all of the visitors.

It could be because Sparkles McDesu had been turned into chicken sausage by the _luganegheri_, but it could also be because Francis, Antonio, and Arthur had opted to go stay at their respective embassies (they would stay for dinner, though) after seeing the sleeping plans. Since there would be no distinction between Staff and student sections at the Palazzo Foscarini, that was probably a wise choice.

The distinction between male and female sleeping quarters, however, remained strong. Thus Peter found himself trudging through the halls, across a courtyard, and into the boys' section of the palace. When he finally found an empty enough room, the first thing he noticed was that Lila's brother Andy was in it.

And so was Sara Parker. One can only imagine what things they were doing.

"I'll... um... just... come back later..." muttered Peter, closing the door behind him. Neither Andy nor Sara paid him any attention, since they were in a heavy... debate about the effects of hockey on a Canadian's psyche. There was more to a relationship than heavy drunk makeout sessions, after all.

So for a while, Peter sat outside awkwardly, watching the other male students wander up and down the hall. Dinner, according to Stan (he seemed informed enough for Sara and Loki to take him under their wing as a possible successor to Kitty and Anita), would be served in half an hour. But it was hard to tell how long half an hour went.

Somehow the day itself seemed to stretch on interminably. Peter leaned against the wall, still feeling like an idiot with his ruff and his short cape. The entire outfit felt rather uncomfortable and looked extremely stupid on him. But instead of dwelling on that, Peter thanked several unnamed deities for not being a girl. He would not have lasted a minute in a hoop skirt, much less one that resembled a giant tin can.

"Sup?" Peter looked up to see Taylor Drews-Garcia and Franklin Mycroft Livingston. "Dinner's ready. Where are Sara and Andy?"

"In there," Peter said vaguely, gesturing to the door.

"Cool," Taylor grinned. "They locked you out?"

"They're having some sort of argument," Peter replied.

Franklin snorted. "Yeah, right. Their arguing only makes them want to jump each others' bones." He knocked on the door. "Hey, Sara! Open the door!"

Taylor nudged Peter. "You know, Frankie arrived at IAHF as an awkward nerd, too. Only he was worse, because he didn't like human contact."

"Too?" Peter asked, frowning. "I'm cool!"

"Sure you are. Cool people totally hang around by themselves in largely-deserted corridors," Taylor deadpanned.

"And what exactly does that mean?" Peter demanded as Sara opened the door and started shouting something about being busy. Franklin remained unfazed; perhaps scenes like this occurred regularly back at IAHF.

"Means that you've got a long ways to go if you really want to be cool, bro," Taylor replied, smirking.

* * *

><p>Meanwhile, back on the girls' side of the palazzo, Ursula, Lila, Kagaya, and Kira were strolling down to dinner.<p>

"Was pasta invented around this time?" Mariam Webb was asking Elizabeth Katherine DuLay from ahead. Chiara Valenti overheard them in the middle of her discussion about pasta sauce with Emma Cameron.

"I think Marco Polo brought some noodles with him from China; maybe that was when pasta was invented," the archangel mage ninja pointed out. She had wings, but she also had an unfortunate tendency to fall upwards onto the ceiling. Elizabeth herself suffered from that tendency, since she was a ninja-seraph. All ninjas suffered from it.

"I heard the first pasta sauces were invented whenever tomatoes first came to Italy," Suzanne Kobzeff said dogmatically as the girls arrived in the hall before the dining room. "In fact, Bolognese sauce existed around this time; it was invented in the 15th century."

Some of the male students were already outside the dining room doors. Kazuma Miyafugi and Daisuke Saburo waved at Molly O'Flannigan-Oxenstierna; Ashton West was greeting MiMi Sonhart, Thorne Silverblood, and KyAnna.

"Where is the Staff?" wondered Lila as Kira sobbed for the umpteenth time about Peter Kirkland not being in Venice with her. Peter Kirkland had been too busy watching the Moomins with Tino, Berwald, and the Chibi Nations that night, and probably wouldn't have gone to the party for fear of being attacked by Kira. Ursula took great care to rub the Sealander's absence in Kira's face at any given moment.

"They'll be along, I suppose," Layla Morris (no relation to Jennifer's ex Alexander) said thoughtfully as she went to stand next to Toshiro Vaspen, a fellow Canada fan. Sara Parker was trying to create an army of Canada fans.

Speak of the devil and the devil shall appear. At that moment, the Staff members made their entrance. Arthur and Francis were talking to Antonio Foscarini with Feliciano acting as interpreter. Antonio was talking to Gilbert. Mr. Hugh was feeding Emma. The transported members of the G8 sidled in with Peter Hawthorne closely tagging along; he seemed to be listening to Franklin Mycroft Livingston talk about something.

Lila walked over to where Peter stood. "What's up?" she asked. Startled, Peter stared down at her blankly for a few moments. "Sorry about being Ursula being bitchy earlier. I think she has PMS."

"Too much information, girl," Taylor Drews-Garcia declared flippantly. Franklin snickered.

"Aren't you Andy Kirk's kid sister?" the former Nerd Group leader asked. Lila nodded; Peter suddenly looked extremely interested in the marble flooring.

"Yeah, what are you doing with a loser like him?" Loki Shadow Reave popped up, grinning from ear to ear. Peter's cheeks reddened. "I'm kidding. He's not a loser. Well, not that big of a loser. I've seen worse." She nodded in the general direction of Lucifer Morningstar, who was avoiding all humans like the plague.

"Who the heck is he?" Charlie Tenterden demanded as he joined their group. The redhead was casting hopeful glances over his shoulder at Mr. Hugh, who was decidedly ignoring him.

"Define 'he'," Lila said helpfully as Sara and Andy walked past looking dishevelled. "Do you mean Peter here, or that Fallen Angel that Loki was talking about?"

"Fallen Angel?" echoed Charlie, looking around curiously.

"Lucifer Morningstar," Loki scoffed. "He is such a _loser_. He loved God so much that when God told him to love humans he said no and God expelled him from Heaven or something like that. I don't know; I don't like paying attention to heavenly drama. Unless it's something good like that one time when everyone thought that Jesus was going out with Mary Magdalene and freaked out because she was a prostitute or something."

The others looked at each other oddly and decided not to ask further. That was wise, because Ludwig had just barked for silence. Everyone knew that when Ludwig called for silence, they weren't even allowed to _cough_ too loudly.

"Thank you, Ludwig," Mr. Allen said. "All right. Before we explain the rules for these impromptu field trips, let us thank our gracious host, Antonio Foscarini."

Everyone mumbled their thanks; some tried to use Italian. Antonio Foscarini smiled and nodded accordingly. Mr. Allen waited until the mumblings had died down before he continued.

"Rules, then! While you are travelling with the IAHF staff, the same rules still apply. No glomping, stampeding, or sneaking into Staff bedrooms. We do not have Mochis, but we do have weapons and we know how to use them. No food fights in Foscarini's dining hall – please take your ship wars elsewhere. Do not destroy anything that doesn't belong to you; we are not responsible for the damage you inflict upon the city of Venice. You will be held responsible and you might even get to spend some time in a Venetian dungeon, which were renovated around the eighteenth century because they were so unsanitary and inhumane."

The students shivered.

"Remember, you are representing not only IAHF but the Hetalia fandom as a whole. If you cannot act appropriately, we will ask the Venetian government to drown you in the Canal of the Orphans." Mr. Allen smiled cheerily at the students; some of the younger ones (like Susanna Black-White, who looked extremely terrified at being in Venice without her 'guardian angels') were quaking in their shoes. "With that being said, have a pleasant dinner."

As the Staff and students filed into the dining hall, they neglected to notice the dark-haired, blue-eyed female looking in from a nearby window.

* * *

><p>Nerd Group examinations were that weekend. Unfortunately several Nerds and applicants were missing.<p>

Fayane Tyrne walked out of the library after her examination with a slight twitch in her hand. The Nerd Group thought that the most effective examination was to make the applicants write a five page essay on any historical topic not mentioned in Hetalia. Fayane found herself scouring her mind for all the facts about Charles Grey, second Earl Grey, until she had a migraine. She then wrote so much that she nearly inflicted herself with carpal tunnel. It just wasn't her day, it seemed.

"Now we have all of these books to read," complained Ilsa Heine as the two trudged to lunch. "I've already read Huxley and Orwell... what about you?"

"Ooh, we have to read _War and Peace_? I've been wanting to take a look at that," Fayane replied. "And Francois de Callières's _On the Manner of Negotiating with Princes_ is amazing. I already read that. I need to read the _Art of War_ and a _Guide to Diplomatic Practice_ by Ernest Satow –"

"Ernest Satow, did you say?" Lucas Arch swooped in on them unexpectedly. "Do you know anything about him?"

"He's a diplomat," replied Fayane. "What, are you doing a report?"

Lucas fluttered his wings carelessly. "We are doing some investigative work with Satow, as a matter of fact – excuse me! Please do not pluck my wings!" The Angel whirled around to glare at Ivan Stern, who had walked off with several wing feathers. "I hate to say this, but that fellow is bad news. Stay clear."

"He created Mighty Major J; of course he's bad news," Jennifer Chang snapped as she appeared at Lucas's side with Karen DuLay. The PPC Agent and IAHF alumnus was clutching a platter of dangerously sharp cookies. "But still, do you have any more information on this Satow bloke? We think he may be responsible for the disappearance."

Fayane frowned. "How did he even get into the school, if he's responsible? Isn't he dead?"

"So was Hugh Fraser, but Mr. Hugh is our Course Coordinator – or _was_, since he's now kinda AWOL," Karen pointed out.

"Point." Ilsa waved to Dorothy Brown as the Nerd Group leader walked past with Falaba Witch.

"I suppose you two don't have any more information on Mr. Satow?" Lucas asked. The two shook their heads. "Well, then, we'll see you two around then."

The three of them traipsed off, presumably to ask other students if they knew anything about Ernest Satow. That would be hard, though, considering that many of the newer students barely knew the Hetalia canon.

"FOOOOOOOOOOD!" screamed C. Jeannete Hernandez as she charged past Ilsa into the cafeteria (nearly upsetting her sombrero on the way to the food). Coincidentally, Northern Italian food was on the menu that day – _sardele in saor_ was for lunch and _polenta_ would be for dinner.

"Someone's eager to eat fried sardines," Fayane remarked wryly as the girls grabbed seats at the Europe table.

* * *

><p><strong>Notes:<strong> Good lord, I hope I can timeskip to Carnival soon. This is getting ridiculously tedious.  
>I am also amazed at my... er, influence... now. Usually, I am really iffy about giving negative reviews because I hate being dubbed the bad cop (I'm already mean enough at home; I don't need to be called mean here). But I concritted another badfic today and somehow convinced the author to remove her story for revision.<br>I forgot what else I was going to say other than the moral of the story: give constructive criticism whenever possible, and take constructive criticism seriously when receiving it. Words have power. Misusing that power is terrible.

/bricked for rambling


	12. Masquerade

**Additional Disclaimer:** Sadly, I own neither Amaury Vassili nor his voice. The song sung by the gondolier is Lucente Stella, a 14th century Venetian Madrigal. Amaury Vassili does sing it; go listen to it.

* * *

><p><strong>Part XII<strong>

Unfortunately, life went on. No matter how hard the students wanted time to slow down, the days went by. This went for both people back at IAHF and people stuck in Venice.

"Since when did it become Halloween?" demanded Agent Anora Jensai one crisp October morning. The Staff had decorated the school in anticipation, but nothing truly spectacular had been planned. Losing a majority of the teaching staff was like shooting oneself in the foot. It was hard to move on.

Workbitch had been promoted to temporary Course Coordinator until Mr. Allen and Mr. Hugh returned, and he had suggested that instead of holding a Halloween party (because lord knows that parties at IAHF were cursed or something), the teachers should bring in candies from their countries and distribute them along a trick-or-treat route. The students were fine with that; free candy was free candy. Especially free Belgian chocolates. Those were the best.

"We have some new Staff members!" Dorothy Brown exclaimed that breakfast. Several students were already in costume, eating their pumpkin pie and chatting about the trick-or-treat trail. "Romania, Macau, and Lisa."

"Who the shit is Lisa?" demanded Stephanie Marie. "I'm just more into the while Romania thing. He is so totally a vampire..."

"What?" demanded Lucas. "Vampires are undead scourges – "

Aside from Lisa the Jeanne d'Arc lookalike, Romania, and Macau, there were some other characters who were more religiously-oriented. There was an old man who could pass off as God, the Archangel Michael, and Saint Aubert of Avranches. Naturally Lucas wasn't sure whether to be vindicated or annoyed. The Hetalia God seemed a bit too hedonistic for his tastes. Not only that, but somehow his own brother Michael happened to be the Archangel that ended up in the Canon. Michael Arch had, through some freakish events of fate, turned into a Canon character.

To say that it was _just _scary would be like saying that the wank surrounding Romania's snaggletooth was a_ little_ bad.

But back to the students.

"Shut up, vampires are fucking sexy," Stephanie Marie snapped. Lucas rolled his eyes and looked at where his brother used to sit. Stephanie stalked away, huffing something about getting her Romania costume ready.

The Nerd Group Exam results had been posted last Friday. Ilsa Heine, Fayane Tyrne, Alakayie Mars, and Francesca Elric were some of the few allowed to move on to the debate in November. Other applicants either failed the test or failed to turn in an analysis of each book on the reading list. Some applicants were trapped in Venice.

Francesca Elric clutched her notes to her chest as she walked to the French classroom. She had wanted to take either Indian or Native American languages, but since there was neither a Native American personification (Alfred was too European) nor an Indian personification in Hetalia, she had been duly signed up for French. It was as if the Staff wanted to make sure all of the students had exposure to Francis. Evil Staff.

Oh, wait...

"Oh god, Francesca, what the hell is with your outfit?" demanded Ivan Stern with a sneer as she pulled up to the French classroom. "You're like a clown."

Sure enough, Francesca was dressed in an orange shirt coupled with green pants and a purple hat. Not that it mattered to her; she couldn't see colours.

"Shut up. You know she's totally colour-blind," Roberta Steel snapped mechanically. She was an android, but it was hard to tell. Maybe her spine lit up during sex, but it wasn't as if anyone ever slept with her. She couldn't feel lust, anyway.

"You shut up, toaster," Ivan drawled, crossing his arms. Roberta kicked him. "What the fuck, toaster?"

"I am not a toaster," Roberta grumbled.

"Go make me a sammich, bitch," Ivan retorted.

"You are insufferable." Roberta turned her back on him. Francesca felt a bit lost.

Another voice cut in."Bonjour, bonjour!" chirped Pirate Francis as he opened the classroom. "Je m'appelle Pirate Francis. Je suis un pirate."

"No, really, my friend?" Nessie the stick figure demanded. Alice Vaughn – or, more accurately, alice vaughn – rolled her eyes and fainted. Having maiden as a species tended to do that to people.

Pirate Francis was still talking. "I weel be your new... your new, uh, _prof du français_ until Francis returns. Entrez dans la salle de classe!"

The students filed in and took their seats.

* * *

><p>Time was a fickle thing. It was the blink of an eye. It was the languor of a summer day. It was a heartbeat. Skip, skip. Tick, tick. In some places, it was easy to measure time. Therefore, time goes on, measured, slow, and steady.<p>

Tick, tick. Galileo's water clock dripped. Drip, drop. What is time, really? The tick of a clock, the dripping of water droplets? Some people were born with an innate sense of time. Each heartbeat could be measured in some way. Every blink. Every tic. Every twitch and breath could be dissected into little pieces of moments.

Other people were not so lucky. Other places were not so lucky. It wasn't easy to measure time in Venice, especially in the seventeenth century. This was most unfortunate for students who wanted to get to class on time.

For the time travellers, the classes were held out in the open. In the Rialto, Ludwig, Kiku, and Feliciano held court with history – the history of Venice, the history of Italy, the history of everything seventeenth century and a little beyond. The Thirty Years' War was happening. Pay attention.

In the Church of Santa Maria dei Carmini, Chibitalia and Roderich explored literature and music, art and culture. The lines blurred and mixed between art and culture. Art was culture.

In the French Embassy, Francis taught International Relations. The French Ambassador demanded that they stay quiet. It was hard to do so in the middle of a heated debate about the preventability of the Thirty Years' War. Could it have been ended before it started? Perhaps. From the folly of the past the Nations made their present.

In the Foscarini Library, Lovino and Howard taught Italian. Foscarini attempted to teach Venetian, but it was hard to get his lessons from Venetian to Italian to English. The students who knew Italian tried to learn Venetian. Everyone else was content with Italian. _Ma ovviamente_.

Just as time went on in IAHF, time went on in Venice. As soon as it had become Halloween back home, it was Carnival in Venice. No one missed Carnival, especially not students.

"Your dress is adorable!" squealed Kira PandaStarz to Georgia Callais as they donned their masks. Mask-wearing in Venice at this time was as common as breathing, and therefore it was ridiculously easy for everyone to procure outfits for Carnival. Chibitalia had wanted for the students to design their own masks, but as it turned out only the more artistic students chose to wear their creations.

There were several types of masks available. There was the Bauta, a full mask that had a strong, square jaw line, no mouth, and gilding. The jaw line was tilted upwards for eating and talking. There was the Columbina, an ornate half mask held up by a baton or tied with ribbon. There was the Medico Della Peste with its long beak. There was the Moretta, which silenced the wearer with a bit they must use to hold the mask in place. Finally, there was the Volto, which was usually white and one of the most popular masks in Venice.

"I know, right?" Georgia exclaimed, high-fiving Aki Chung-Feng. "She helped me coordinate everything!"

"I'm just so sad that Peter-kun isn't here with me to see my beautiful mask!" Kira whined as she donned her Volto mask. It concealed her face entirely in white, with gold decorations.

"I will finally become the belle of the ball!" screamed Georgia as she put on her Columbina mask.

"Shut up!" Ursula groaned as she put on her Bauta mask.

In a flurry of brightly coloured skirts and ornate masks, the girls left their dorm and ventured towards the courtyard leading out of the palace complex. Seventeenth-century Venetian outfits were especially elaborate around the time of Carnival, with enormous ruffs and collars adorning ornately-masked faces and elaborate hairdos. Most Venetian women dyed their hair blonde, it seemed.

"What the hell are you?" Kagaya demanded as Fye Acespaid loped up to them with a Medico Della Peste mask.

"The Raven," Fye intoned sarcastically. "Actually, I'm a medieval doctor. What about you?"

"If you opened your eyes, you will see that I am a harlequin," Kagaya tittered, the bells on her hat jingling merrily. The students assembled in their usual little groups in the courtyard.

As the last students emerged in their costumes and masks, Feliciano and Chibitalia walked out of the shadows donned in identical blue outfits with gigantic ruffs and elaborate masks.

"Carnival," chirped Feliciano as he adjusted his Bauta mask, "is a time of celebration. It is the last great party before Lent in the Catholic Church. It is a time of expression, allowing someone to pretend to be a member of another social class. During Carnival, rich and poor are alike."

Mr. Hugh was off to the side, bouncing excitedly. He was dressed in opulent blue silk and velvet, with a ruff of white lace and a white Bauta mask. He wore a blue hat on his head as well to complete the look. Mr. Allen had a similar outfit, but in red. Mary wore one of the Columbina masks; she was dressed in outrageous clashes of emerald green and amethyst purple.

"People are usually allowed to wear masks between December 26 and Shrove Tuesday. That's a couple of months," continued Chibitalia. "They can also wear masks on Ascension and from October to Christmas. With all of these opportunities to wear masks, mask makers in Venice occupied a special part of Venetian society with their guild and a lot of business."

"By the 18th century only Venetian citizens could wear the Bauta mask," added Lovino sullenly as he adjusted his own mask. "It became a disguise regulated by the government and was required at political decision-making sessions where citizens were required to be anonymous. You couldn't carry weapons with this mask." He scoffed slightly.

"Put that gun down, Lovi," Antonio warned from where he stood with Francis and Gilbert.

"Shut up, Tomato-bastard," Lovino muttered, but tossed him the flintlock pistol nonetheless. Over at the side, Mr. Hugh glared at Charlie Tenterden, who was wearing a Columbina mask and was also trying to hit on him.

"I have a dagger in my boot just in case," the British Course Coordinator whispered to his American counterpart. "Don't tell anyone."

"Of course not," Mr. Allen replied smoothly.

The students departed in their small groups to join the festivities. Mr. Hugh, Mr. Allen, Foscarini, Mary, Howard, and Emma departed in Foscarini's gondola. They sailed down the Canale Santa Margherita, towards the Grand Canal and the biggest celebrations of Carnival.

Carnival became truly popular in the 18th century to the point where the Venetian government had to put restrictions on mask wearing. But in the meantime, the time travellers could enjoy their stay in this beautiful, timeless city.

"No news from the Chronotransporter?" Mr. Hugh asked Mr. Allen. Satow and Kane were already at the Piazza San Marco; they would meet up at the Basilica around the time the _Nona_ rang.

"It's been eerily quiet. I think it might jump after the Carnival," Mr. Allen replied.

"Cute of it to want to let us experience Carnival first," Mr. Hugh pointed out. Their gondola sailed past another, more lavish gondola that had no felze and was painted a fiery shade of pink. Naturally, they couldn't see it sail past. But if they had seen the gondola and its occupants, they would have been very concerned.

* * *

><p>Venezia Rosabella Loredana Vargas was <em>special<em>.

That enough could probably distinguish her as a Mary Sue, but additional description is usually required to prove that hypothesis beyond a doubt.

Venezia Rosabella Loredana Vargas had long, rippling, gorgeous dark-brown hair that cascaded down her back like a mahogany waterfall. She had dyed it blonde, because it was the fashion at the time. She also had sparkling blue eyes that matched the Venetian lagoons. She walked with an ethereal grace, like that of a princess.

She was also one hell of a paranoid brat, but anyone within a ten foot radius of her and her Aura of Smooth would think that she was as adorable as a kitten. Everyone else thought she was as adorable as a kitten in a microwave.

On this auspicious Carnival day, Venezia was rowing about in her beautiful fluorescent pink gondola. She wore a bright pink dress and a Columbina mask adorned with diamonds. As usual, there was a seashell in her hair. She could never part from the seashell; it gave her magical powers like flight and invisibility.

"So, I wonder when the targets are coming, Vennie!" squealed Francesca Fetuccini Spaghetti Penne Fusilli Vargas.

"Don't call me that!" Venezia snapped. "It's Venezia! I represent Venice! Shut the fuck up!"

"All right, bitch," Alicia Christina Vargas groaned. "No need to flip shit, man."

"I wonder when Romeo will come," Julietta Shakespeare Vargas sighed randomly, causing Venezia to roll her eyes.

"Romeo will only come when you help me get the damn suitcase," the Mary Sue growled, crossing her arms and glaring at her three minions. Francesca represented Mantua; Alicia represented Genoa, and Julietta predictably represented Verona. "You got it? Help me get the suitcase, and the League of Mary Sues will reward you."

The gondolier looked at them oddly, but once Venezia turned her seductive blue gaze to him he slumped slightly, submitting to her will once more. "Sing us a song, gondolier!" Francesca cheered.

The gondolier paused for a second before starting to sing. He sounded like Amaury Vassili – heck, he looked like the fellow. Never underestimate the power of a Mary Sue.

"No, no riesco a immaginar, come potrei mai stare senza te," he warbled out to the midday air, adding his own voice to the music all around. Venice was a city of music, a city of sound, masks, and glass. People lived in different worlds from each other and masqueraded constantly. Venezia loved it all.

"Sei la certezza che io ho," continued the gondolier as he neared the Rialto Bridge, "non ti perderò. Dovessi anche morire, difenderti dal male. Io non ti lascerò."

"That's right, gondolier," Venezia gloated as the gondolier stopped to park their gondola. "You can't live without us. You'll protect us. That's how you'll live, now. There's nothing else."

* * *

><p>"Trick or treat!" squealed Zanie Ellison Renelle as she knocked on the door of the art classroom. SIM Feliciano answered the door with some cups of Spumoni covered in marzipan strawberries. "WHAT IS THAT? IT LOOKS DELICIOUS!"<p>

"It's Spumoni," SIM Feliciano replied, adjusting his sunglasses. "It's moulded Italian ice cream made with different colours and flavours. It has nuts in it, though –"

"Nah, I ain't allergic!" Zanie pounced on the ice cream. "Grazie!"

Off to the side, Jennifer smiled at Workbitch as they observed other students arrive at the art classroom, clamouring for ice cream. "It seems to have been a success," she noted, entwining their fingers. Workbitch was dressed as Point Man Arthur from _Inception_; Jennifer was dressed as Ariadne.

"That seems to be the case," agreed Workbitch tersely, looking around him. "So we can say it's a good idea?"

"Probably so, until someone whines about not getting enough candy," Jennifer sighed. "Still. It's a pretty good way to celebrate Halloween. We should do something similar for Christmas."

"I hope the others return by then," Workbitch sighed. "I think we can risk a party for Christmas, though."

They watched more costumed students pass in silence. After a while, Jennifer spoke. "No news on Satow, I'm afraid, other than the stuff we already know."

Workbitch looked at her. "Thank you," he said after a moment. Jennifer took his arm, but didn't look at him like she used to.

"You've been so busy," she said after a moment. "It breaks my heart."

Workbitch said nothing, tossing the loaded die in one hand as he looked ahead at the students, equally unwilling to look at her.

* * *

><p><strong>Notes:<strong> Venezia is actually a seriously Mary Sue'd version of my OC Venezia, who represents Venice.


	13. Farking Icehole

**Notes:** Once more, apologies for the delay. CSSSA piles on the work, and I've been distracted by that and my fucking adorable boyfriend who reminds me of Arthur because he likes tea and has a fascinating layered personality. Never mind the fact that he has lived in London before and his eyes are like London skies. How we got together is an intriguing tale, and I hope to cover it elsewhere. I'm also hoping to eventually finish my collection of memorable conversations at CSSSA disguised as a Hetalia fanfic – he's the Arthur in that and his bromance with the guy friend I dub Alfred is so much like bromance USUK that it's beautiful.

* * *

><p><strong>Part XIII<strong>

"Michael Arch! Exactly what do you think you're doing?" Denmark demanded, striding down the hall towards a flabbergasted Archangel.

"Preaching the Gospel to the wall," Michael replied sullenly, crossing his arms.

"We are a secular organisation," Francis's female counterpart growled as she passed by.

"You're one to talk, letting nuns wear their wimples yet forbidding the hijab," Denmark pointed out. Female Francis groaned.

"That is a completely different –" she began to say, but Denmark cut her off.

"No, it's not. If a Christian woman can cover herself for her faith, so can a Muslim woman." Michael Arch slunk away as Denmark and Female Francis began to argue.

The Staff Section was still a place of wonder and explosions. Michael found himself spending hours in the conservatory. Most plants were dying at this point, but the chrysanthemums were still in full bloom. Red, orange, yellow mums dotted the autumnal landscape. Matthew's maple tree was bright red.

And as for explosions... Alfred and Ivan may have become stuck in time, but their other counterparts continued the tradition. Explosions had yet to become a thing of the past.

"It's okay; I'm American," someone said from next to Michael. Alfrd bounced up into Michael's lap.

"Nice to meet you, too," Michael sighed. The American Mochis seemed to have all of the powers. They had been capable of sprouting various appendages before. Now they were capable of speech.

Granted, they spoke as if they didn't know English but were intent on incorporating English into their vocabulary. For all Michael knew, 'it's okay; I'm American' could easily translate into 'fuck you, you little fucker' in the mysterious Mochi language. It probably did.

Alfrd bounced out of Michael's lap and hopped down the corridor. The Archangel followed listlessly, noting the falling leaves outside. Soon, the cold and frost would settle in, along with the snow.

Michael passed by Workbitch's office. The poor man was sitting inside, hampered down by stacks of papers. Jennifer was nowhere to be seen.

"What's going on?" he asked curiously, peering into the office. The former Secretary looked up, startled.

"The investigation. The PPC has discovered traces of experimentation on some of their technology," Workbitch shrugged. "Apparently two devices were stolen from the Department of Sufficiently Advanced Technology several months ago – a Chronologically Correct Time Device and a Remote Activator."

"Interesting," Michael said neutrally.

"We're trying to piece it all together." Workbitch smiled thinly. "Is that all you want to know?"

"What happened between you and that Jennifer?" wondered the Archangel. "Ever since Halloween we haven't seen the two of you together."

"Work," Workbitch replied simply. "The burdens of being a Course Coordinator are taxing." He paused and looked up at the Archangel. "Don't ever become a Course Coordinator. This job is a parasite. It will leach at your life until you have nothing and no one left. I don't know how Allen and Hugh handled it."

"I'll keep that in mind," Michael mumbled before leaving the office. There seemed to be something that Workbitch was hiding – surely it must be more than just work separating him and Jennifer.

As petty and Kitty-and-Anita as it seemed, Michael was determined to figure it out.

* * *

><p>One transcending thing about the Venetian Carnival is that the outfits were always beautiful. Flittering amongst the crowd, the students tried their best to blend right in with the colourful clothes.<p>

Dresses at this time featured long-waisted bodices and varying necklines to accommodate the ruffs. They also featured farthingales, which were essentially hoop skirts. Dress colours were lighter; dress materials were lighter, too. But the most distinctive things about the fashion of this period were that there were giant ruffs and that sleeves and bodices were slashed.

"This is exciting!" Lila sighed as she and Peter ran through the streets of Venice with their masks on. Everywhere, people were celebrating Carnival. Processions marched through the city, whether on the water or on land. Flowers and music filled the air.

"It's a bit too noisy, I think," Peter admitted as Lila pulled him through several crowds. He could barely keep up with her, but he dared not let go of her hand.

"Where are the two of you going?" Andy Kirk had popped out of nowhere, his eyes narrowing. Lila snorted.

"How could you tell it was us?"

"Someone told me you would be wearing a scarlet dress, sister," Andy replied, crossing his arms. Lila rolled her eyes, but that was a waste of expression since her eyes were practically in shadow.

"No one told you to barge in on my business," growled Lila. Peter flushed a couple different shades of red, but it was all hidden by his mask.

The great masquerade continued all around them. Colours, feathers, masks, and lace whirled around the entire city. Faces were on parade, but they weren't familiar. They were fantastical creatures; for once, everyone could be someone they weren't.

"I haven't been this excited for Carnival since forever, ve!" Feliciano exclaimed, racing through the crowds with Ludwig. The two stopped to clap at a jester's performance. Mr. Allen and Mr. Hugh were up ahead with their red and blue outfits.

"Was ist das?" Ludwig asked suddenly, pointing to the canal nearby the two Course Coordinators. A bright pink gondola was floating down the canal, sporting several young ladies dressed in opulent silks and velvets.

"That's a strange gondola," Satow had appeared out of nowhere, toting the accursed Chronotransporter. Kane clutched at Satow's arm, her expression concerned even through the colourful mask.

"I don't think Venetian gondolas can be pink," Feliciano mumbled, tilting his head to the side.

Satow was peering at the occupants of the gondola. He frowned suddenly, pulling Kane and the Chronotransporter away.

"What was that?" Feliciano asked as the couple and the suitcase disappeared.

"I don't know," Ludwig sighed.

* * *

><p>Mr. Allen found Satow and Kane in a side alley, consulting the suitcase.<p>

"What's going on?" he demanded. "Feliciano and Ludwig said that you two disappeared, so Hughie and I were looking for you!"

"What are you talking about?" Satow demanded, hiding the Chronotransporter behind his back. "It's nothing!"

"It's..." Mr. Allen frowned. "You two saw the pink gondola, didn't you?"

Satow and Kane looked at each other and nodded. "There's something suspicious about a pink gondola, even during Carnival," Kane explained quietly, removing her mask. Mr. Allen moved forward.

"Does the Chronotransporter suspect anything?" he asked.

The machine seemed to perk up. Mr. Allen raised an eyebrow. Satow shrugged.

"Is it speaking?" Mr. Allen asked, gesturing to the suitcase.

_It takes a while for the voice to activate, you idiot_, the Chronotransporter grumbled.

"Cheerful." Mr. Allen sighed. "So, anything strange about the pink gondola or its occupants?"

_Tch_, scoffed the Chronotransporter. _Obviously. Those girls are Mary Sues._

Mr. Allen felt a bolt of ice traverse down his spine. "From where?" he asked, trying to keep his voice level.

_Lilith's factory, where else? They're searching for me._ The Chronotransporter looked as thoughtful as a suitcase could. _We'll have to lose them soon. I'm afraid that we'll have to transport everyone prematurely. I still need to obtain Vano's reports, after all._

"Why do you need Vano's reports?" demanded Mr. Allen as the machine began to make a whirring noise, as if it was about to do something highly taxing.

_That is confidential information_, snapped the Chronotransporter as Bled light began to slip out of it and through the streets of Venice, looking for people with traces of caesium about them.

* * *

><p>"Good afternoon," Venezia said, curtseying to the man with the Bauta mask and the opulent blue outfit. He looked vaguely surprised, but returned the gesture.<p>

"Good afternoon." The man looked slightly winded. "I am Hugh Fraser. And you?"

Venezia paused. Hugh Fraser. Why was that such a familiar name?

"I am Venezia. It is an honour to meet you."

The man – Hugh – smiled and kissed her hand. "And to you, too. How is Carnival?"

"I have enjoyed it immensely. Every year it becomes more and more beautiful." Venezia's blue eyes sparkled. "I love the new masks and outfits."

"I love your outfit," Hugh said, shrugging. Venezia chuckled darkly and took his arm.

"Let me show you some more beautiful dresses, then," she murmured.

As the two walked away, Stan, Charlie, Loki, and Sara slipped out from behind convenient crates.

"Who the shit is this Venezia chick?" Sara demanded.

"I didn't know Mr. Hugh liked her," Stan whispered as Charlie cried into his shoulder. "Er... Charlie, I don't really swing that way..."

"He likes her! He likes HER!" bawled Charlie. "I never get any love!"

"Come off it, we know that Faeleen Dempsy would smuggle alcohol to you just to get at your crotch," Loki hissed, capping a hand over Charlie's mouth. "Lots of girls like redheads. Nut up or shut the fuck up."

The four strode by Peter, Lila, Kira, and Ursula. Ursula was complaining about how no one took her story about the Venetian Carnival very seriously. Everyone else was one breath away from 'cool story, bro'.

"Does anyone know who Vano is, then?" Peter asked awkwardly, but no one heard him. Lila was still cursing her brother for being too overprotective. Kira was giggling and interrupting her giggles with the phrase 'desu yo', much to Lila and Ursula's annoyance.

"I will kill you, Kira, if you don't shut up with your desu yo-ing," Ursula hissed mid-complaint, causing the part-panda to wince and whimper. "That's right. Shut up."

"That's not nice," Peter muttered, suddenly noticing the Bled light. "Hey... there's something..."

"What is it? Don't mumble," grumbled Lila. "Fuckin' overprotective brothers..."

Peter sighed. "Bled light. Coming for us. Run."

And so they ran.

* * *

><p>Lucas was sitting in the library when Michael entered and took a seat across from him. "Where's Cain?" Michael asked his brother.<p>

"Getting some books," Lucas replied offhandedly. "_Good Omens_, for one."

"Ooh, cheery," Michael muttered. "Have you... more information?"

"On what?" Lucas demanded. "Satow? I think this is all we need." He pointed to the thick folder next to him. "We know what happened to them, but we don't know how. There's a missing link."

"The suitcase," Michael said immediately as Monaco kicked Ivan Stern out of the library for yelling something about Mighty Major J betraying him. "What's with the suitcase?"

"Maybe it's the TARDIS in disguise," Jennifer joked as she took a seat at their table. "What's going on?"

"Nothing." Michael paused. "Hey, I was just curious, but what's the status quo between you and Workbitch?"

Jennifer looked down at her hands. "He's not paying attention to me anymore," she said after a moment.

Shoste Thermo, the resident Homestuck troll, walked over to her and took a seat. "Join the club, man," she sighed. "I thought Blaise was cheating on me, so I confronted him about it and we fought."

"He could have been cheating on you. He's a Lust Demon," Lucas pointed out bluntly.

Shoste glowered. "I know. That's why I was mad at him. I thought he was cheating on me with Loki."

"Loki's too busy to hook up with anyone outside the Staff," Jennifer sniffed. "If she's not working, she's updating that chart."

"Who's updating the chart in her absence, then?" Shoste wondered.

"Kriss and Merka," Jennifer sighed.

Michael examined the G8 member, his chin propped up on his hands.

* * *

><p>"You farking icehole," hissed Loki, lowering her mask to glare at Lucifer Morningstar. "Don't follow me like that."<p>

"You're following me," Lucifer snapped, raising his mask. The two ran down a side alley, away from the noise and colour. "What the fuck do you want?"

Loki crossed her arms. "Why did you do it?" she asked after a moment. "Why were you such a loser that you..."

"Chose exile over cooperation with humans?" Lucifer smirked. "Humans are sinful."

"Demons are more sinful," Loki replied, moving closer. Lucifer frowned.

"I don't quite understand what you're –" he began, but suddenly the Shadow Demon was kissing him ferociously. "FUCK! TEETH! OW, YOU BITCH!" he hissed, tugging away and clutching at his lips.

"I hate you, too," Loki growled, baring her teeth. Lucifer lunged at her.

Neither noticed the Bled light snaking its way into the alleyway behind them.


	14. A Fateful Game of Truth or Dare

**Part XIV**

Nobody could explain it. Nobody bothered to check the diets of the victims.

Several people in Venice who had led very humdrum lives previously had suddenly found themselves whisked away in the middle of Carnival. They landed back in Venice, true, but the location was a bit different. Time itself seemed slightly different. It wasn't Carnival, for one, and everyone who had gone with them were wearing Carnival outfits and looked worried.

"Does anyone know what the date is?" Arthur asked, briskly removing his mask. Satow and Kane stepped forward with the Chronotransporter.

"July of 1620," Satow said. "Basically a couple of months since our last stop."

"But what are these extra Venetians doing here?" wondered Mr. Allen.

Mr. Hugh frowned, and suddenly paled. "Who was I talking to? Who was that woman?" he asked.

"A Mary Sue," Kane said briskly. "She arrived on the pink gondola, correct?"

"Mary Sues, in Venice?" echoed Mr. Hugh.

"Yes, and for a moment she had you under her sway," Kane replied.

"God damn it, Billy!" Mr. Allen threw his hands in the air. "Hughie, why are you always so susceptible to these things? You little bastard!"

"It's not my fault!" Mr. Hugh crossed his arms. "Still doesn't explain why there are extra Venetians, you know!"

"What happened to Sparkles McDesu?" wondered Alfred suddenly, causing Gilbert to hide behind Roderich.

"Eaten as chicken sausages," Roderich sighed. Gilbert sighed in relief.

"So that explains why they're here. Did they absorb the caesium?"

"It would be horrible for them to follow us around, should the Chronotransporter take us elsewhere," Mary muttered, bouncing Emma slightly. The little baby gurgled and giggled.

Ludwig frowned. "That's a bit suspicious. We are marked only by trace bits of caesium, enough for the Chronotransporter to identify and transport us. Too much would poison us. If the bits of caesium in these people had only been a fraction of the caesium used on Sparkles, then..."

"She was also a giant rooster," Arthur pointed out, "so she could have absorbed more than the rest of us."

Everyone was suddenly forced to jump out of the way as a carriage came rumbling down the street. There were bars over the windows.

"Another arrest," Antonio noted cheerily. "I'll be heading back to the Spanish Embassy, then. Maybe Foscarini will still be here."

The extra Venetians walked away from the eccentric-looking group, looking dazedly at each other and removing their masks.

* * *

><p>"They escaped!" Venezia hissed at her minions, her blue eyes shining angrily. "Which one of you dumbfucks let them escape?"<p>

Julietta, Francesca, and Alicia looked at each other uneasily.

"Come on, tell me!" screeched Venezia. "The Chronotransporter escaped right under our nose! What will they say back home when they hear about this?"

"Calm your tits, bro," Alicia suggested. Francesca and Julietta cowered.

"I will not calm down!" Venezia glared. "I was this close to seducing one of them –"

"Yeah, of course. I wonder what Neptune would say to that," Alicia remarked snidely.

"Shut up!" Venezia stormed into the vibrant pink gondola. "We don't know where they are and what time period they're in. If we don't figure it out, they'll drown us in the Grand Canal or something."

The other three understood that as 'if you don't figure it out, I'll drown you in the Grand Canal'. Venezia was perfectly capable of doing it. She had nearly strangled a little boy the other day for following her around too much.

"You're the boss," sighed Francesca as they boarded the gondola once more. Their gondolier returned.

"Back to our palazzo," Venezia barked, putting her mask back on as the pink gondola floated down the blue canal.

* * *

><p>"Hey," Jennifer muttered, sidling into the office. Workbitch looked up from the desk, smiled quickly, and then looked back down. "What was that for?"<p>

Workbitch frowned. "What was what for?" he asked.

Jennifer perched on the arm of his chair. "Your enthusiastic greeting," she replied drily. "You're as cheerful as a funeral."

"You try doing all of this work," Workbitch replied testily. Jennifer sighed, reached over, and started kneading his shoulders.

"I offered to help you."

"I don't need help."

"Then don't complain." Jennifer's fingers traced taut muscle under the charcoal-grey fabric. "You're so stressed..."

Workbitch resolutely plodded on through the pages. "You're distracting me," he growled.

Jennifer paused. "What?"

"Don't touch me." Workbitch's jaw was taut. "You're distracting me from my work."

"You're always working." Jennifer folded her arms. "That's not fair."

"Let me finish this, and we'll take a walk."

Jennifer leaned in to kiss his cheek. Workbitch looked away. Jennifer sighed, silently retreating from the office only to encounter Michael Arch.

"What's going on?" she asked the Angel, noticing that the Angel was carrying a giant box.

"Winter equipment signups are going up and I need to help the Baltics set up rentals," Michael replied. "Were you visiting Workbitch?"

"How would you know?"

"He's your boyfriend and he lives in this general area." Michael shrugged.

"Any leads on the disappearances?"

"Lucas was trying to find some American Mochi witnesses. The Italian and German Mochis tried to help, but they were unintelligible to me."

Jennifer looked away. "Right," she said after a moment. "Did the Americans say anything?"

"Well..." Michael mumbled, shrugging. "Nothing of import. They seemed to mention the name 'Vano' constantly."

"Vano? Have you searched him?"

"Do I look like a walking computer?"

"No..." Jennifer sighed.

Michael rolled his eyes. "Well, Lucas is running searches on him. Don't worry."

"I want to present it to Work, though."

"We'll let you." Michael paused. "So, what's going on between you and Workbitch?"

"None of your business." Jennifer raised an eyebrow. "I'm going to the library."

She brushed past him haughtily.

* * *

><p>"What's going on?" Lila demanded as the group tramped back to the Palazzo Foscarini. Peter, Ursula, Kagaya, and Kira looked at each other, shrugging.<p>

"Time travel, yo," Kira said, shrugging as she patted Georgia's shoulder. Kagaya was trying to find a handkerchief, which was something hard to do with the complex period clothing.

"Other than the obvious," Lila groaned. "Who was in the carriage?"

"Why should we care?" Ursula demanded. "I care more about getting back to IAHF to continue classes and graduate early."

"Oh, shut up," sighed Lila. "We still have an essay on the origins of Carnival for Feliciano."

"Why should Feliciano assign us homework? He rarely works himself!" complained Kagaya.

"Where's my Peter? I want my Sealand-kun, yo!" bawled Kira randomly. The others looked at her uneasily.

Pit-pat came the footsteps as Andy Kirk ran up to them, his expression thoughtful. "What's going on?" he asked his sister.

"Only a typical day-to-day conversation. Nothing to see here; scram," Lila growled, shoving her brother lightly.

Andy refused to budge. "Really?" He squinted at Peter.

"Good lord, Andy," hissed Lila. "Go the fuck away!"

They finally lost Andy when they were within view of the Church of Santa Maria dei Carmini; he had spotted Sara, Loki, Charlie, Franklin, and Taylor. Lila invited Peter into their room; Ursula protested by saying that she wanted to start on her essay.

"Feliciano's not teaching until Wednesday, yo," Kira pointed out. "Come on, Ursula! Let's have fun, yo! Play a round of Truth or Dare or something, yo!"

"Truth or Dare?" groaned Ursula. "And I thought you couldn't get any more juvenile."

Nearby, Brigid Hughes was talking avidly about her already-done essay for Feliciano. Everyone else wondered how she found the time to write it. Upon entering the palazzo, Brigid immediately ran off to finish her other assignments, tailed by several other transported Nerd Group members. Peter wondered if he should follow suit.

"Don't be like that, yo!" Kira insisted, pulling him along with her into the girls' section. Lila, Ursula, and Kagaya followed suit. "Truth or Dare! Let's play Truth or Dare, yo!"

* * *

><p>"Did you see the person in the carriage?" Mr. Allen asked Satow as they headed for the library in the Palazzo Foscarini. "Was it anyone we knew?"<p>

"I would not think so," a new voice cut in. It was Foscarini, looking at them gravely. He was dressed in rich carmine silk-and-velvet robes. "That was Zuanne Minotto. He was a Venetian noble. Someone accused him of revealing secrets to the Spanish."

"Someone?" echoed Mr. Hugh as he caught up with Emma in his arms.

"Someone working for the Inquisitors of State," replied Foscarini.

The government system of Venice was complicated with all of its legislatures, but the group that mattered the most was the Council of Ten. This council practically ran Venice, because they held all the power and ensured order and security in the state. Technically, the Council consisted of seventeen members: ten elected members, the Doge, and the six ducal councillors. From this group the even more important and mysterious Inquisitors of State were selected. The Inquisitors of State had two members of the ten ordinary Council members and one of the ducal councillors. They dealt with security and state secrets, and wielded the same amount of power as the rest of the Ten. They were the ones who usually dealt with treason cases, and thus kept a large network of spies.

"Do you know who?" Mr. Allen asked.

"A spy, but who am I to know? I am but a Senator." Foscarini shrugged. "I heard that Minotto was indeed passing information to the Spanish, though. The same goes for Zuan Battista Bragadin."

"And who is he?" Mr. Hugh wondered.

"A Venetian noble." Foscarini unlocked the door to the family library. "I am glad, though, that the Spaniard in your group is not living at my house. That would probably draw suspicion."

"Suspicion, sir?" Satow frowned. "Would the spies take that as evidence to arrest you? Why would they?"

"Who am I to know?" repeated Foscarini, taking a seat and running his hand through his white hair. "If it can happen to them, it could happen to me. Right now the Council is run by the opposition."

"The opposition," echoed Mr. Allen. "We're not following."

Foscarini sighed. "There are two prominent political parties in Venice: the papalisti and the giovani. I am a member of the giovani. There are people in the Council of Ten who are papalisti, and I am sure they would like to see me fall."

"Why? Why are they divided?" asked Mr. Hugh. "What do you stand for with the giovani?"

"The giovani believe that Venice should not answer to Rome or the Holy See," Foscarini said. "Venice is her own Nation and should not be held subordinate to the Pope. The papalisti believe otherwise."

"But surely there are other people who would make better targets," Mr. Allen pointed out as Mr. Hugh rocked Emma to sleep.

Foscarini looked out the window for a long time before turning back and shaking his head. "I was once the Venetian ambassador to France and England. When I was Ambassador to England, my secretary denounced me to the Council of Ten. He framed me. He told them I was selling secrets to Spain."

The other three men paused, staring at Foscarini.

"And then what?"

"The Council found me innocent after recalling me and imprisoning me for three years. But still, this is happening much too soon. They will suspect me again, now that they have uncovered people who _are _selling secrets. Anti-Spanish sentiment is still high in this city. Your friend is not safe."

"Neither are you," Mr. Hugh said suddenly. Satow and Mr. Allen stared at him. Satow clutched the Chronotransporter tightly.

"What do you mean?" Foscarini asked.

"This time machine said its objective was to obtain spy reports. Judging by what is happening, I think it wants to get the reports that accuse you of betraying Venice."

Mr. Allen stared at his alter-ego. "What do you mean, Hughie –"

Mr. Hugh shook his head. "Look, it's simple. Gerolamo Vano apparently wrote spy reports. The Chronotransporter wants them. It said that Foscarini was important to its objectives as well."

"So if you piece it together," murmured Satow, "and juxtapose that with Foscarini's last framing incident..."

"That means that Gerolamo Vano must have been the person spying on people selling secrets to the Spanish!" Mr. Allen exclaimed suddenly. "I'll bet you anything that Vano's the one behind Minotto's arrest. Eventually he'll report Foscarini as well!"

"But Minotto is guilty," Mr. Hugh pointed out.

The three fell silent. "It was an idea," Mr. Allen mumbled as Foscarini looked confusedly at all of them.

* * *

><p>"Truth or Dare?" Lila asked Peter.<p>

"Truth," Peter said, blushing. Lila smiled slightly, looking away.

"Have you ever kissed a boy?" Kagaya asked suddenly, grinning. Peter blinked, eyes wide.

"What? Kissed a boy?" he echoed.

"It's not much of a foreign concept," Lila cut in, still not looking at him. "Have you ever pressed your lips against the lips of someone who had a penis and identified as male?"

"I know what you're asking!" Peter exclaimed hastily. "I'm just... I'm... look, I haven't even kissed a girl!"

"Pathetic," sniffed Ursula as the other girls raised their eyebrows. "You're more hopeless than I thought."

They were in the girls' section of the palazzo, in their room. Lila, Kira, Kagaya, and Ursula sat on their beds while Peter perched awkwardly on the desk.

"Play nice," growled Lila. "My turn, and I pick truth. Come at me, bro!"

"I should be doing my essay," grumbled Ursula.

"Describe your first kiss, if you've ever kissed, yo!" Kira cut in at the same time.

Lila paused. "Well... I kissed a boy when I was six, during a game of Truth or Dare. He was cute; he had red hair and green eyes. We were also childhood friends."

Peter wasn't sure what he felt curling up in his stomach at the thought of Lila kissing another boy.

"Did he look like Charlie Tenterden, yo?" Kira cooed.

"Charlie? Well... hm, not really. And Charlie's definitely gay, so I wouldn't say I liked him. I mean, I'm fine with Charlie being gay, but –"

"Why bother being attracted to a gay guy if you don't have a penis, right?" Kagaya asked sagely. "I thought so."

Peter looked down at his shoes. "Kira, your turn," he muttered.

"Dare, yo!" Kira exclaimed.

Ursula grinned. "I dare you to go for an entire hour without mentioning Sealand."

"But he's so cute –"

"Starting now." Ursula glared. "This includes cutting off that annoying verbal tic."

"But I can't help it, y –" Kira cut off mid-yo at the glare on Ursula's face. "Okay..." she mumbled.

"Truth," Kagaya cut in suddenly. Ursula sighed.

"Describe your first kiss," she said.

"That was my question, y –" Kira began, but Ursula glared at her again. "Okay, okay, fine!"

"Um..." Kagaya trailed off. "I kissed a boy at a pool party when I was thirteen. We were crushing on each other for months, and we finally admitted it and kissed underwater."

"UNDERWATER KISSING?" screamed Kira suddenly. "That's so romantic, y –" She caught herself quickly. "That's so romantic!"

"Cool story, bro," Ursula grumbled. "Truth."

"What's the farthest you've ever gone with a boy?" Lila demanded. "In bases."

"Bases? The fuck?"

"French, feel, finger, fuck. Go on." Lila smirked. Ursula turned bright red.

"Feel," she muttered.

"Wow, second base!" chortled Lila as the other girls grinned at each other. Peter blushed even harder. "Never knew you had it in you!"

"And what's that supposed to mean?" demanded Ursula. Lila grinned innocently.

"Peter, your turn!" she chirped. Peter looked away, trying to resist the urge to do something ridiculously stupid. Like kissing her. Yeah. Lila. Andy's little sister. That would be awkward as hell.

"Dare." He muttered that, bracing himself for the inevitable.

"Kiss a boy!" Kagaya screamed. The inevitable happened. Peter nearly fell off his desk anyway.

"What?" he stammered, more out of habit than confusion.

"Come on, go kiss a boy!" Lila exclaimed, grinning.

"But..." Peter shoved the rest of the sentence away. _But I wanted to kiss you? Get a grip_.

Lila sighed. "Fine, if it makes you feel less awkward, then I dare you to kiss me instead."

Peter was sure that he could fry an egg on his cheeks. The other girls grinned evilly. Lila tilted her head to the side, smirking.

"Do you seriously..." he muttered, shuffling towards her as the other girls chanted 'KISS! KISS! KISS!' at the top of their lungs.

"Is it too awkward?" Lila breathed as their faces neared.

"Not as awkward as kissing a boy," Peter muttered as their lips met. Well, actually, his lips found the corner of her mouth. But she quickly moved to make sure his lips brushed against hers.

Peter felt as if something inside him had melted.

"Get a room," Ursula groaned, shattering the moment. The two broke apart. Kira and Kagaya were grinning like nobody's business.

"Your turn!" Kira added, grinning at Lila. "Truth or dare?"

"Truth." Lila looked away at Peter, whose face was still bright red.

"What's your most unattainable fantasy?" Kagaya asked. "And it can't be a celebrity or a Staff member."

Lila frowned. Kagaya grinned. Lila glared. Kagaya shrugged. Lila pointed to Peter.

"Him," she said simply. The others stared; Peter goggled at the finger pointing at his chest. She liked him. A girl liked him. And it wasn't any girl – it was Lila. Lila Kirk, yaoi fangirl extraordinaire, liked_ him_.

Peter stared, and stared, and stared some more. He watched Lila's face flush several different shades of red; he watched her eyes scan his shocked expression for any sort of reaction.

And then she wilted. Turning around, Lila ran out of the room, ostensibly to find her brother. Peter paled.

"You're a fucking idiot," Ursula growled. "A girl just said that she liked you, and you didn't do anything about it. You really are a pathetic loser."

Peter still stared at the door, trying to blink away the memory of Lila's disappointed face.


	15. A So Called Spanish Conspiracy

**Notes:** The amazing and highly-dedicated** FH14** (aka Andy) is making a wiki for us. Go help him if you can. And while you're at it, check out his fanfic _The World Academy W Occult Association_. It is wonderful.

The wiki: http : / / iahf . wikinet . org / wiki / Main _ Page

* * *

><p><strong>Part XV<strong>

Foscarini was surprised, but to say that he was merely 'surprised' would be to say that Sean Tanaka back at IAHF was a little 'unsettling'. How could he explain the inexplicable disappearance and reappearance of an entire group of people? It was unnatural.

Foscarini crossed his library to look out at the night sky. Stars twinkled at him from above the silent rooftops and rippling waters. His mind drifted back to the earlier conversation.

Gerolamo Vano. The name did not ring a bell. It shouldn't, because Vano was not a prominent Venetian nobleman like Foscarini. He was just Gerolamo Vano from Salò, a member of a prosperous family in a small Venetian town. He wasn't personally rich, but he wasn't poor, either. He had a wife. He had family.

Gerolamo Vano was a spy for the Inquisitors of State. Foscarini frowned; he shouldn't be this uneasy about a spy. Venice was full of them. Venice used spies to make sure families were not plotting to seize power. Venice used spies in its neighbouring states. Venice used spies everywhere and paid them all in blank pardons, which were only useful if you were a criminal or you knew a criminal who would pay through the nose for a get-out-of-jail free card. So that wasn't helpful for Foscarini. Not at all.

Gerolamo Vano was responsible for Minotto's arrest. That was a hypothesis, though. Foscarini needed _proof_, proof that Vano wrote the reports incriminating Minotto. And as for Bragadin…

Foscarini frowned, sighed, and went to get a drink. As he walked over to his sidebar to pour himself a glass of wine, the doors to the library opened. In strode Takeda Kane.

"Getting a book," she explained, bowing apologetically.

Foscarini nodded, taking a sip of his wine. "I don't have any English books, if you're looking for one," he said.

"Hm." Kane paused and looked at him. "You must be confused."

"Confused?" he echoed, wineglass still perched at his lips.

"You appear to take our disappearance and reappearance in stride." Kane shrugged and looked over at the books.

"I am surprised." Foscarini took another sip of wine and set down the glass. "You lot vanish from the Carnival and turn up again months later, as if nothing has changed. What the devil do you expect me to believe?"

Kane inclined her head. "Truth is stranger than fiction," she said quietly.

"Are you…" Foscarini's eyes narrowed.

"Be careful, Antonio Foscarini." Kane smiled, leaving the room without grabbing any books. Foscarini's scowl deepened.

"Madam!" he called after her, but she was already gone. Sighing, the Venetian nobleman resumed his post, looking out at the starry night.

Kane, meanwhile, strode down the halls with an anxious expression on her face. Foscarini did not suspect anything – in fact, the man seemed to have largely brushed off their reappearance as eccentric.

"Takeda?" Mr. Hugh appeared out of the shadows of a nearby alcove, causing Kane to jump back with a squeak. "Ah, apologies. I shouldn't have frightened you."

"It's fine," Kane replied briskly. "Where is your daughter?"

"Asleep, as you should be." Far off, a clock chimed midnight. "What is it?"

"Foscarini suspects nothing, as far as I can tell," Kane whispered. "Nothing about time travel, at least."

"Right." Mr. Hugh nodded. "He knows nothing about the Chronotransporter? We did let it slip occasionally…"

"He still doesn't know anything about it." Kane looked down at Mr. Hugh's shoes. Mr. Hugh coughed.

"Right, then, I'll… go tell Allen about it." The Course Coordinator smiled and started backing away. "Thank you for this heads-up –"

"Wait." Kane reached out, eyes darting up to meet his. "There's more."

"What? More?" Mr. Hugh frowned.

Kane nodded. "You might be wondering why Agnes chose to entrust the Chronotransporter to us."

Mr. Hugh paused and walked back. "Yes, I had been wondering why," he said quietly. His frown softened the closer he got to her. "You and your husband look familiar."

"I was hoping you'd note that," Kane murmured, looking at him intently. Mr. Hugh looked back into her eyes; in the moonlight he could tell that they were still that same piercing shade of green. It was a strange eye colour for a Japanese woman, but at the same time, it was familiar.

Those were the eyes of Emma's mother, the eyes of the woman he had loved before her untimely death.

Even as he looked, Kane turned her head away from him, breaking the spell. "I'm sorry," she muttered, brushing past him on her way to her room.

* * *

><p>Fall blurred into winter at IAHF. The coldness settled on the school, seeped into its walls, and smothered the lonely hearts.<p>

Jennifer sat on a bench looking out at the frozen Lake Eric. A year ago, this lake had brought her and Workbitch together. But now…

Jennifer sniffled and wiped her eyes with her sleeve. Snow was falling silently, powdering her hair, hat, scarf, and coat. Tiny flecks of ice rested on her glasses.

"You've been moping again," Merka Breigher said as she took a seat next to her, holding a mug of hot cocoa. "Want some?"

"Nah." Jennifer smiled at Merka briefly before looking back at the lake again. "How're you? How's Kriss?"

"We're cold," Merka sighed, smiling as she rubbed her hands together. "Kriss caught a cold yesterday and Nurse Florance had her confined to the bed."

"Cheerful."

"Yup. She was kinda disappointed; we had to cancel our blanket fort plans." Merka laughed.

"You're lucky you have someone who cares like that," Jennifer mumbled.

Merka's laughter stopped abruptly. "What? Something wrong between you and Work?" she demanded with wide eyes. "Why didn't you tell us?"

Jennifer shook her head. "It's just me being a bitch. Nothing's wrong."

Merka's eyes narrowed. "You say that every time you and Work give each other the silent treatment," she pointed out.

"That's because I'm a bitch." Jennifer crossed her arms. "What, is it news to you?"

"There's something you're not telling me, and I want to know what it is and why you're not talking about it. What the fuck is going on?"

Jennifer shook her head. "Everything is_ fine_, and nothing _hurts_," she insisted.

Merka stared. They faded into an awkward silence for a while longer until Michael Arch joined them with earmuffs plastered to the sides of his head.

"Hey," Merka said, grinning at the Archangel. "Shouldn't you be in class?"

"Wizard Arthur was planning a Homestuck crossover class, but none of the trolls showed up so he decided to let us out early," Michael replied, shrugging. Jennifer pretended to not notice him. "Are we going to post signups for winter sports soon?"

"Right before dinner, which is in an hour," Merka replied briskly. "Shit, man, I gotta get the lists from Tony." She got up. "See you two at dinner!" She rushed off.

Michael took a seat and looked over at Jennifer, who was still staring at the lake as if it was the most fascinating thing ever. "How's Workbitch?" he asked.

"How's Lucas?" Jennifer countered.

"You're circumventing the question."

"Answer mine first."

"Lucas is fine, then," Michael replied. "He's made plans to go with Karen to the Avatar OFU right after his graduation and the start of the Christmas holidays; he's apparently teaching something over there."

"Wonderful." Jennifer finally tore her gaze away from the ice and looked right at him. "How are your classes?"

"I have to write an essay comparing and contrasting the Homestuck and Hetalia fandoms," Michael said, shrugging. "And we just covered the 1893 Chicago World's Fair in Age of Empire."

"Fascinating. What about Canon 101?"

"We talked about America's Bicentennial. Kempeitai Kiku has no idea what he's talking about." Michael fluttered his wings and looked at her again. "You're avoiding my question."

"He's fine." Jennifer looked away from him. "We're fine. Everything's as happy as sunshine, daisies, and butter."

"Butter was happy? I didn't know butter had emotions," Michael pointed out wryly.

"It's yellow." Jennifer snorted and wrapped her scarf tighter around her neck and chin. The snow continued to fall. "Yellow's a happy colour."

"You're not convincing me that you're happy," Michael grumbled. "Either you're a terrible actress, or you're being sarcastic."

"I am a terrible actress, aren't I?" Jennifer shrugged. "Why don't you go do your homework or something? Just because you're a Staff member doesn't mean you don't have to –"

"Now you're just trying to push me away," Michael noted, laughing harshly. "Would you brush me off so quickly if I told you that my brother's found some information on Vano?"

"He has?"

"Not really."

"Then go away."

Michael laughed again, getting up and shaking snow off his wings. "I'll tell you if we find anything interesting."

"Goodbye." Jennifer waved him away.

Had Michael not been an Angel, he would have labelled her as a bitch. But he was, and so he had to exercise an unholy amount of saintly patience.

It was all for the greater good, anyway.

* * *

><p>"Zuan Battista Bragadin was arrested the other day," Foscarini announced at lunch several weeks later. A majority of the people present didn't seem to care, but Mr. Allen and Mr. Hugh looked at each other darkly.<p>

"What for?" Arthur asked. He, Antonio, and Francis had dropped in from their respective embassies. Foscarini shot a dirty look at Antonio, who merely stared back innocently.

"Passing secrets to the Spanish."

"I heard we took some guy named Diego Gomez prisoner a couple days ago," Antonio said abruptly, tossing a tomato from one hand to the other. "Someone said something about him colluding with Venetians."

"Who's spying for whom?" Arthur demanded. "I have no idea what the rest of you are blathering about."

"There have been three arrests since our reappearance," Mr. Hugh explained. "On the night that we reappeared, a man named Zuanne Minotto was arrested for revealing state secrets to the Spanish. Now Zuan Battista Bragadin has been arrested for that same charge."

"But some of us had already suspected those two," Foscarini pointed out.

"Do you know how the information was passed on?" Mr. Allen asked. Foscarini shook his head. "So how did the Council go from suspecting them to arresting them?"

Foscarini shrugged, but Feliciano piped up. "Fratello and I saw some suspicious stuff happening at the Spanish Embassy a couple of days ago."

All eyes turned to Feliciano and Lovino. Lovino glared. "Chiudi il culo, fratello!" he growled. Foscarini raised both eyebrows at that but said nothing.

"What suspicious things? Do tell," Arthur insisted.

"Well, we were there visiting Antonio – since, you know, we're not Venetian nobles so we don't need to get the Council's permission to visit – when suddenly this man appears dressed like a priest. But I don't think he's a priest. He hid his face with a handkerchief, after all, and what kind of priest does that? I mean –"

"Feli, we don't need to hear about that. What happens after the priest arrives?"

"The Ambassador told us all to get out of the embassy while he talks to the priest. Antonio found it all kinda fishy, but we decided to go for a walk. We came back around the time the meeting was over."

Antonio jumped in. "Yeah, the priest guy was leaving by a darkened stairway so we couldn't see his face."

Foscarini frowned and leaned back in his chair. "Interesting," he said after a moment. "Did you happen to see any other people who could have testified to the Council of Ten with this? Other suspicious-looking people? Spies?"

"Not from what we can tell," Antonio admitted.

"But what about the third arrest?" Arthur cut in. "I'm assuming you lot didn't suspect arrestee number three?"

"It was a Spanish arrest," Foscarini replied.

"Didn't I just say? Some guy named Diego Gomez is imprisoned in the Spanish Embassy. They think he's spying for the Venetians."

"So we have two Venetians spying for the Spanish and one Spaniard spying for the Venetians." Arthur frowned. "What the fuck is going on between you and Venice?"

"I wouldn't know," Antonio muttered. "Otherwise I'd have told you."

* * *

><p>"We are covering the so-called Spanish conspiracy today," Ludwig growled as the students walked along the Rialto Bridge after breakfast for another history class. There was no distinction between first, second, and third semester students anymore. "In case people forgot – and I'm assuming a majority of you did forget – the Venetians feared that the Spanish were conspiring to undermine them by creating another trade route through Milan. But there was more to that."<p>

"Venice is a Catholic state. Don't get it wrong; it's Catholic even though it's also supporting Protestant princes in the Thirty Year's War," Feliciano added. "Venice followed the Pope in terms of religion, but did not want the Vatican controlling politics in the Republic. That's why the Venetians disobeyed the Pope's orders to hand over two clerics they had arrested and passed a law that didn't allow the Church to get and use its property in Venice. The Jesuits, Theatines, and Capucchins had to leave, too."

"Which, naturally, made the Vatican angry," Kiku continued. "The Pope forbade all celebrations of religious services in the Republic. A French envoy had to mediate the argument, and in the end Venice won. This showed that Venice believed that the state was superior to the church."

Ludwig nodded, coughed, and continued. "And since the Spanish were Catholic and controlled and allied with Milan, Naples, and Florence, the Venetians naturally opposed the Spanish. The Spanish supported Austria when the Austrians fought the Venetians, and they wanted to control the Grisons and dominate Venice for largely trading purposes. In Venice, the Venetians believed that Spain controlled a great deal of the Church's activities and possessions; that belief led to jealousy."

"And that's where the Spanish conspiracy started!" Feliciano exclaimed. Ludwig hushed him; several passing Venetians were staring at the large group. Some of them were talking amongst themselves and glaring at them. "Oh, sorry… Anyway, the Spanish conspiracy started in 1617."

"The Spanish viceroy in Naples, the Duke of Ossuna, didn't disarm after the war between Austria and Venice ended," explained Ludwig. "He continued to threaten Venetian shipping. Rumour had it that he was planning on using mercenaries to attack Venice from within, and then use his own ships to invade."

"But when the Venetian government uncovered the plot, they arrested and executed several people believed to be responsible. Angry Venetians swarmed the Spanish embassy, causing the Spanish Ambassador to flee," added Kiku. "Previously, there had been some pro-Spanish attitude in Venice, especially amongst those supportive of the Vatican, but those attitudes were quickly squashed when this plot came to light. People distrusted anyone connected to Madrid."

"They're so mean to Antonio," whined Jessie the winged person. "What did he do wrong?"

"His country attacked Venetian merchants?" Andy Kirk suggested innocently. Jessie glared at him.

"Is Venice just super paranoid about everything, or did Spain actually plan that?" Suzanne Kobzeff asked interestedly. The Nations looked around and shrugged.

"Some people say that the conspiracy never happened," Ludwig replied. "But either way, it led to a state of heightened paranoia within Venice. People feared for their Republic and were determined to weed out the enemy."

"It's like the first semester Mary Sue hunt," Elizabeth Katherine DuLay whispered, grinning. "My sister told me all about it."

"The atmosphere may be similar, yes," Kiku said, looking rather uncomfortable at the memory. "Luckily for us, by this time most of the tension has died down. There's still suspicion of the Spanish going around, though. We heard earlier that some Venetians were arrested for spying on the Spanish. I think Antonio-san keeps to his embassy nowadays for fear of persecution. The conspiracy, whether it happened or not, still lingers. You can tell."

* * *

><p>After class, Lila and Andy walked along the Grand Canal on their way back to the Palazzo Foscarini. "Another essay," Andy grumped. "And I had been hoping to spend the evening with Sara and Loki."<p>

"You hang out with them a lot." Lila smiled at nothing in particular. "What's going on between you and Sara?"

"What's going on between you and Peter?" Andy retorted.

"Answer my question first," Lila muttered, glowering.

"I'm older."

"I'm prettier."

"What! That's nothing to go by!" Andy lightly shoved her. Lila cackled and punched his shoulder playfully.

Dex Thomson passed them at that moment, his eyebrows raised in amusement. Princie Fraser was with him. Before they could get out of Andy and Lila's earshot, though, Stan and Sandra came running over.

"Have you two seen Nicole?" Stan panted as Sandra looked around. "Nanise is being a bitch about not being able to find her."

"She could be hanging around Taylor Drews-Garcia again," Andy called. The two looked over at him.

"Really?" Sandra asked.

"Sure." Andy shrugged. They ran off. Andy and Lila continued to walk, even as Dex and Princie veered off, distracted by a sweets-selling stall.

They passed KyAnna and Kazuma Miyafugi moments later. "I heard something about someone trying to sneak into Arthur's room in the English Embassy the other day," KyAnna was saying. "But no stampedes yet. Has anyone tried to get to Matthew?"

"Not sure," Kazuma replied, shrugging. "I didn't know there were still fangirls willing to sneak into Staff rooms."

"They're stupid," Andy muttered as he and Lila walked away. "The fangirls, I mean. It's so easy to just disappear in Venice. I mean, look at the canals. You could pass it off as an accident."

Lila laughed. "But most of us were preoccupied with adjusting to 17th century life." She pulled at the ruffly collar she was wearing. "I can't wait for the day we leave this place and time. Why are we here again?"

"Something about spy reports. I forgot." Andy sighed as they passed by Susanna Black-White and Elise Rayn. Elise was saying something about her dress. "But back to my first question."

Lila stiffened. "We're friends."

"Sure." Andy rolled his eyes. "You said that rather quickly."

"I don't feel anything for him. He doesn't like me."

"Ha. I've seen the way he looks at you."

"You're being paranoid again."

"You're my little sister!"

"I can handle things!" Lila groaned.

"You seemed depressed a couple of weeks ago and you've been ignoring him. I'm assuming that something happened. Did he break your heart? I'll kill him."

"My god, Andy, shut up," whined Lila. "Nothing is wrong. He's just not interested in me."

"So you do admit you like him?"

"Sure. Why not. But nothing's –"

Andy shook his head. "You're in denial."

"_Really_?" Lila stared.

Andy stared back. "Really," he affirmed. They continued to walk through the noisy musical streets; Andy paused to buy a bouquet of flowers. Lila raised her eyebrows at them. "It's for Sara," Andy muttered.

Lila giggled. "Finally taking that step?"

"Shut up. I'm feeling charitable." Andy gathered the flowers in his arms and paid the stall-keeper. "But honestly, I think you should re-evaluate the situation. You sure Peter's not into you? Look closer."

"Look," hissed Lila. "We had a round of Truth or Dare that night. I practically told him and the rest of the room that I liked him. He didn't react."

Andy laughed harshly. "He could just be shell-shocked. Chances are, he's so shocked that he's getting the opportunity to get some action that he's gone through a mental shutdown." He grinned at her. "Really, sister, you could do better."

"Shut up." Lila wrinkled her nose. "He's my friend."

"Sure, and I'm an Angel," Loki Shadow Reave pitched in, joining their walk with a grin and a piece of paper.

"What's that?" Andy asked, gesturing to the paper.

"A friendly note to a fallen Angel," Loki replied. Andy grabbed for it; she snatched it away. "No. Mine." She stuck her tongue out at him.

"So it's to Lucifer? I'm guessing it's along the lines of 'Roses are red, violets are blue. I have a gun, get in the van'," Andy joked, causing the Shadow Demon to hit him. "Good lord, Loki, I'm sorry if that offends you!" Pause. Evil grin. "That means it's something nicer, right? Awww…"

Lila watched amusedly as Loki chased her brother away through the streets of Venice. She looked back at the bridge she had just passed. Peter was there, standing at the centre looking out at the waters.

Their eyes met. Lila felt the colour rise in her cheeks.

Before Peter could say a word, she bolted.

* * *

><p><strong>Notes:<strong> Signups are open for winter sports, if you know you're stuck at IAHF.


	16. Passive Agressive Floriography

**Notes: **For the purposes of the plot (or whatever's left of the plot), I'm going to take the historical events surrounding Vano and put them out of order. Just trying to keep the remainders of the plot moving here.  
>Granted, unless someone here has read <em>Pistols! Treason! Murder!<em>, it'll be hard to tell. But I digress.

* * *

><p><strong>Part XVI<strong>

The hydrangea blossoms sat on Jennifer's windowsill, glaring accusingly. Jennifer glared back.

They were back to floriography, weren't they? Jennifer tore her eyes away from the hydrangeas to consult the floriography chart that Arthur had given her. Pursing her lips, she looked for a suitable floral response to the hydrangeas.

Yellow carnations. That would work, wouldn't it? Disappointment. Yellow carnations meant disappointment. So much for yellow being a happy colour.

She could send him yellow chrysanthemums, too. With a couple of dying leaves. That ought to make a statement.

Hydrangeas meant 'heartless' after all.

* * *

><p>"Lila! Wait! I – shit." Peter raced after Lila's disappearing form, reaching out. "Come back! I wanted to say something!"<p>

Damn it, why did she run so goddamned fast?

Peter looked around at the shops and stalls. By now Lila had vanished into the crowd. Peter groaned. He continued to walk, not paying attention to his surroundings. Where could she be? Why couldn't she wait?

After a moment, Peter looked up to see that he was in the middle of another bridge, spanning another canal. It was the Bridge of the Angel; he had overheard Susanna Black-White telling Allison Frazier about it. Peter continued to walk, zigzagging through the streets. He thought he caught a glimpse of Lila, but she was gone after a blink.

_Brilliant_, he told himself. _Just wonderful. You're hallucinating about her now. Stupid_. Peter continued to walk.

"Ecce homo!" someone yelled from behind. Peter paused, looking back. A richly-dressed man stood at the juncture between the road that Peter was on and a neighbouring alley, pointing an accusatory finger. Peter wasn't sure what 'ecce homo' meant, but it probably fell along the lines of 'that's him'. Why else would there suddenly be a scuffle?

A man collided into Peter. Peter stared. The man ran off; moments later, two burly-looking men shoved past Peter in their mad pursuit. They were followed by the richly-dressed man. Peter frowned.

"What the hell is going on?" he demanded, grabbing the arm of the nearest familiar figure. It was Elisabeta. Peter froze, his mind figuratively blue-screening. He had accidentally grabbed Elisabeta's arm. He was probably going to get hurt. Elisabeta was going to _kill _him.

"I don't know what you're talking about, Hawthorne. Now get your hands off me," the Hungarian growled, smacking him away. Peter blinked as she walked off, before realising that she remembered that his last name was Hawthorne.

He looked around at the others. Some people seemed to be stunned, but others hadn't noticed the minor disturbance – if an assassination attempt could be called that, of course. Peter was pretty sure it was an assassination attempt.

But this wasn't Assassin's Creed…

* * *

><p>After dropping off her yellow bouquet, Jennifer left the Staff Section to visit the library.<p>

"Hey," sneered Sean Tanaka from outside the library doors. Jennifer frowned.

"The little kids are outside, you know," she remarked snidely.

"Monaco and Liechtenstein are inside the library," he retorted.

"Creeper," Jennifer muttered, entering the library. From the windows, she could see Mountie Matthew, Berwald Øxenstierna, Aviator Alfred, and KGB Ivan organising their teams. Yuki-rin Øxenstierna was, predictably, with Berwald. The pirate ships had been, once again, frozen in place next to the dock.

Michael, Lucas, and Cain were at their usual table, surrounded by the rest of their 'flock' – if Andrew Khok, Docter Xanax Uvu, Zanie Ellison Renelle, and Cuddles could be considered much of a flock. Michael waved Jennifer over to their table.

"Look what we found," he said, handing Jennifer a file full of papers. "It was discovered in the Italy section of the library."

The IAHF library was extensive (rising up to three storeys) and beautiful, with hardwood floors and tables, comfortable leather couches, elegant wrought-iron staircases, and countless (the official count was over two million) books. The books themselves were ordered alphabetically and categorised by the country of origin, because the Dewey Decimal System used too many numbers and somehow found it acceptable to put true crime books next to SAT prep books.

"File 636," Jennifer read the file tab, frowning. "What's this about?"

"They're copies of documents found in the archives of the Venetian government," explained Lucas.

"I don't read Venetian," Jennifer pointed out.

"All _I_ can say is 'el me barchin xe pien de bisati'," Lucas retorted. "But these are translated, don't worry."

Jennifer took out the first document in the file. "These are reports."

"Spy reports," Michael agreed.

"And that's important because?"

"They're written by a man named Gerolamo Vano."

* * *

><p>Peter stumbled across yet another bridge as the sun began to set over Venice. The sky, dyed brilliant hues of red, orange, and pink, was reflected in the scintillating waters of the lagoons.<p>

"Dove xe el Palazzo Foscarini?" he asked, but no one answered. "Can anyone tell me how to get to the Palazzo Foscarini?"

"Peter?" Lila, Kagaya, and Fye appeared from a neighbouring alleyway. "Where the hell have you been?" Kagaya demanded.

"Lost," Peter admitted. "There was an assassination attempt earlier today."

"Where?" Lila demanded.

"I don't really know my streets or canals, but it was near that one church…"

"Venice is full of churches. Try again."

"The Santa Maria Formosa," Peter crossed his arms. "Happy?"

"Not really, since I don't know where that is." Lila turned to Kagaya and Fye. "We were at the Campo della Pescheria."

"Yeah, fox-boy wanted fishies," giggled Kagaya. "We also bumped into Spain! He was talking to this woman."

"Wasn't her name Cecilia Grancini?" Lila wondered.

"She was talking about how her husband got imprisoned for spying on people," Fye pointed out. "He's a journalist."

"Explains everything," cackled Kagaya. "Considering that Shinbun's the personification of snooping…"

All around them, the markets were closing for the night. Lanterns hung from shops and houses. Lila asked a passing gondolier for directions back to the Dorsoduro section of town; he answered in rapid-fire Venetian accompanied by exaggerated hand gestures. The confused students wandered off after a while, not noticing the gondolier suddenly fall back under the influence of Aura of Smooth as four young women approached him.

Kagaya and Fye ran ahead, trying to get English directions to no avail. That left Lila and Peter to walk awkwardly side-by-side behind them.

"So." Peter looked at her. "Um."

Lila looked away. "You want to talk about the Truth or Dare game," she guessed.

"Yeah. I… uh, had no idea how to bring it up."

Lila sighed, wringing her hands absentmindedly. "Yeah," she said after a moment.

Peter nodded. "Did you… did you mean what you said?"

Lila snorted. "You really doubt _that_?" she demanded. "Yes, I meant what I said." Moment of truth. The uneasy curling feeling in her stomach was getting unbearable.

"Oh. Good! Um. I mean. Yeah." Peter blushed. It shouldn't be this hard. Damn it all. Damn it all to the seventh level of hell.

"What are you trying to say?" Lila asked, frowning.

"I…"

"I understand if you don't return the feelings," Lila said hastily, looking down at her hands.

"No! That's not – look, I like you too, and…" Damn it. What else could he say?

But Lila heard nothing else. It was as if a giant weight had been lifted off her shoulders. She looked up at him, at his earnest expression and his anxious hazel eyes.

"You… you're not joking, right?"

"No," he admitted, smiling. Lila found herself smiling, too.

* * *

><p>"You three, stop it," Workbitch Bartholomew snapped as he dodged a bolt of light. Wizard Arthur, Norway, and Romania looked up from their spells to grin innocently at him. The Interim Course coordinator groaned and rubbed his temples. "What have you three been up to now?" he demanded. Wizard Arthur hid something behind his back. "Hand it over."<p>

Like a sulky chastened kid, Wizard Arthur handed over a scone.

Not any scone, though. A scone with legs. Workbitch stared. "What is this?" he queried, as the scone wiggled its new appendages wildly.

"Arthur accidentally spilled some Sentiency Solution on a scone two weeks ago," Romania said. Wizard Arthur elbowed him.

"Shut up; you weren't supposed to blab about it!"

Workbitch sighed. "Is there a way to reverse the effects?"

"That's what we're working on!" Romania declared. "The only problem is that Arthur doesn't want us killing his scone."

"Don't blow up the school, then," Workbitch muttered, handing the sentient scone back to Arthur and walking away.

Outside his office, Workbitch noticed a bouquet of yellow carnations and chrysanthemums, accompanied by dead leaves. Workbitch understood the message, and furrowed his brow for a suitable response.

He settled on some flowering dogwood and Indian cress; dogwood meant indifference and Indian cress meant resignation. Just as he was putting the finishing touches on the bouquet, the door opened and in came Françoise, the female counterpart of Francis.

"Kat's flooding the second-floor bathroom again." As it turned out, poor Ukraine was going through another identity crisis. The fangirls had called her Yekaterina so often that she had all but adopted the name, and then to remember that she didn't actually have an official name… still, Workbitch rolled his eyes.

"You're exaggerating again," he pointed out. "You should try and comfort her; there's nothing I can do for her."

"Seychelles tried. It didn't work." Françoise rolled her eyes. "Anyway, I'm here to discuss something else."

That phrase was something that Workbitch had quickly learnt to fear. Discussing something else usually led to either complaints about why he hadn't found the time-travelling Staff members, or demands for another seminar on sensitivity in light of the Norwegian shootings, the South Korean mudslides, and the London riots. Pirate Arthur still denied any involvement in the last.

Time was still out of whack in IAHF, since in World One those events had happened over the summer. Workbitch hated it all.

"What is it?" he asked Françoise.

"Kriss and Merka have recently brought to light your issues with their colleague Mademoiselle Chang, but unfortunately they both are sick and cannot give you their thoughts. So here I am, with advice."

"I don't need advice," Workbitch growled.

Françoise laughed elegantly, leaning over his desk seductively. "Don't turn down advice from the country of love, you fool," she cackled. Workbitch leaned back, eyes wide.

"Can we… discuss this later?" he mumbled. "I'm busy."

She laughed darkly. "Non, you need a break. Up!" And with that, she dragged him out of his seat and out of the room.

* * *

><p>"There's going to be a Writers' Workshop on Thanskgiving weekend!" exclaimed Fayane Tyme to Ilsa Heine, Ruth, and Vivian Hawthorne (no relation to Peter) at dinner. She put down her edition of the <em>Bled Chronicles <em>and grinned. "I can't wait!"

"I better start writing things if they're asking for writing samples to critique," Ilsa said thoughtfully. Leon and Leah Zhao walked past; Leah took a seat with them, grinning at her bouillabaisse.

"Finally some creative writing," Ruth sighed. "I was getting sick of essays." As she said that, Korah Lyons walked past with Aloisio Guerra and Andrew Yugi Kross; the USUK fangirl overheard, grinned, and stopped at their table.

"Are they authorising fanfiction for this?" she asked eagerly. "I keep on getting plotbunnies for USUK fluff fics –"

"You get bitten by the Fluffy Mint Bunnies, too?" Leah asked sympathetically. Korah nodded. "I constantly get plots for Spamano fics! My brother thinks I'm a weirdo for liking them that much, but he's just a loser."

"Yeah, I know!" Korah bounced, spilling her bouillabaisse. She didn't notice. "And it's so frustrating that I can't write any of these fics! Man, I hope we get to write fanfiction for the workshop. We better; I mean it's a fanfiction academy and all…"

"I'm going to write a love story," Aloisio declared, "about me winning Karen's heart from that stupid Angel." He glowered at Lucas Arch as the latter walked over to the Europe table.

"Yeah, sure," Andrew Yugi Kross muttered. "Whatever floats your oyster."

"I was thinking about writing a play," Ruth said randomly, "about Arthur and Kiku discovering their feelings for each other in a washroom stall."

"Wow, that sounds intense," Fayane murmured. "I wish you luck with that!"

"My only problem is that it'll probably be fluff and I'll suck at it," continued Ruth.

"Still! It's going to be intense! Can't wait to see it!"

Thanksgiving weekend was only a week and a half away.

* * *

><p><strong>Notes:<strong> I'll be opening Winter registration after all. It'll open next chapter.

In the meantime, anyone who wants to submit some writing for the Writers' Workshop can do so. I'm looking for drabbles to critique.

Ruth's comment about the play set in a washroom stall was highly influenced by my CSSSA core teacher Ruth McKee's tendencies to write plays set in strange places.

Lucas said "my hovercraft is full of eels" in Venetian.


	17. Two Plus Two Makes Five

**Additional Disclaimer:** The text that Jennifer reads is actually from Vano's reports in File 636, taken from _Pistols! Treason! Murder! _by Jonathan Walker.

**Notes: **Second semester registration is now open. Ditto for writing sample submissions. To elucidate, I will be accepting any genre for the writing sample. The quality of the piece is up to personal discretion as well. Please try to keep it short, though.

* * *

><p><strong>Part XVII<strong>

With a bouquet of petunias (resentment), evening primroses (inconstancy), and broken straw (broken promises) sitting on her desk, Jennifer leaned back, took out a page from File 636, and began to read.

"_Battista, servant of the Spanish secretary, said that last night at four bells a masked man knocked and asked urgently for the secretary, and gave him the news that Knight F had been imprisoned with his servant_."

* * *

><p>"Zuan Battista Bragadin was executed last night."<p>

Antonio Carriedo overheard them – two men in the corner of the bar, looking about them as they spoke in what they thought were low whispers. The Spaniard edged closer to them, hoping to catch more news.

"I heard Diego Gomez was executed by the Spanish in Milan."

That part was true. Antonio had heard that morning. The Spanish had secretly deported Gomez to Milan after extensive interrogation. They had fired Domenico the gondolier after Gomez blew his cover, after all.

Antonio wasn't sure how he was able to understand the two men, but he wasn't complaining, either. They appeared unaware of him as they continued to talk. Apparently one of the men had contributed vital information leading to Bragadin's arrest and subsequent execution.

"Hey, I heard about Diego Gomez!" the Spaniard said even before he realised that he said anything. The two men turned to look at him.

"And who are you?" the older man asked. He had a beard; the rest of his face was shadowed by his hat.

"Antonio Fernández Carriedo!"

The two men looked at each other.

"It is a pleasure to meet you," the bearded man said quietly. "I am Gerolamo Vano."

* * *

><p>"What should we do for the next history class?" Feliciano asked Chibitalia as they walked through the darkened streets of Venice. The older Italian was carrying the younger; Chibitalia had complained about his feet hurting earlier in the day.<p>

"Did you talk about the founding of Venice yet?" Chibitalia asked, tilting his head to the side. Feliciano frowned.

"A long time ago, I think. It was one of the first classes!"

"Okay, what about the fall of the Republic?"

"We'll talk about that when we get to Napoleon!"

Chibitalia scrunched up his face. "The Renaissance?"

Feliciano sighed. "I'm sure Luddy knows what we're going to talk about tomorrow," he said after a moment. They passed by a bar and peeked in through the window. "Isn't that Antonio over there?"

"Boss Spain?" chirped Chibitalia, pressing his face to the window. "Who is he with?"

"Two men in masks!" gasped Feliciano. "Oh no, what do we do?"

"Mask-wearing is popular in Venice, Feli, remember?" Chibitalia chided. "We don't need to worry about Antonio, I think."

"Are you sure?" Feliciano frowned. "Look, there's a girl headed their way right now…"

* * *

><p>The Chronotransporter was getting restless again. Mr. Allen and Mr. Hugh looked at each other uneasily. Satow paced the window, looking out at the stars. Kane sat quietly to the side. The suitcase rattled agitatedly.<p>

_They're here again_, it said suddenly.

"What's here?" Kane asked, her voice barely a whisper.

_The Mary Sues_. The Chronotransporter emitted a few sparks. _Everything's going wrong! This isn't how it works out in history!_

"What isn't? Don't leave us in the dark," growled Mr. Allen.

Had the Chronotransporter possessed a face, it would have glared at him exasperatedly. Mr. Hugh bounced Emma. Emma gurgled.

_Look. The events are happening much faster than they would have historically_, the Chronotransporter said after a moment. _The events of 1620 are blurring together. Bragadin was supposed to have been executed in September. Domenico was fired in October. Gomez was supposed to have been executed in December. But now it's all happening in rapid succession in one summer. Domenico wasn't even supposed to be chased until 11 April 1622!_

"Wait, wait. All of this has been happening, and you haven't been telling us?" growled Mr. Allen. "I did not know that those two were executed; I knew they had been arrested, but –"

"We're to blame," Satow said suddenly, turning away from the window. "Our arrival has skewed the timeline."

"Maybe the Mary Sues have something to do with it as well," Mr. Hugh muttered.

_The Mary Sues have Antonio_, the Chronotransporter said suddenly.

"Which one?" Mr. Allen asked.

_Spain_.

"Where?" Mr. Hugh asked.

_A pub_.

* * *

><p>Venezia smirked as she strode over to Vano and Domenico. "A message," she said, smirking at Domenico's winded expression as she handed a slip of paper to Vano. "I trust we will be meeting up later?"<p>

"Seems to be in order," Vano replied, looking at the paper. "Grassie, Battista."

Venezia turned to walk away, but before she left she noticed Antonio. "What is he doing here?" she asked, eyes narrowing.

"Drinking," Vano replied with a shrug. "Wine turns us all into fools."

"He is a Spaniard. You don't know this?" Venezia's scowl deepened. "If anyone catches you with him… you know how the Doge Antonio Priuli feels about foreigners!"

Antonio looked over at her. "_Hola, señorita_!" he called, cheeks rosy with the wine he had consumed already. Venezia glared.

"Buona sera to you too, Antonio," she muttered.

"You know me? But I don't know…" Antonio frowned, going slightly cross-eyed. "Are you a student?"

"A student?" echoed Venezia, Vano, and Domenico at the same time.

"Yeah, at the International… Aca… Academy of Hetalia Fanfiction." Antonio took another swig of wine. "You know, with the Mochis and things, but ever since that transporter thingy took us here, I haven't seen a Mochi…"

Venezia's eyes lit up. "You come from IAHF?" she whispered.

"Si…" Antonio grinned. "I used to be a teacher! And then they cancelled the cooking classes because they thought I wasn't teaching. It's not fair, to be honest! I didn't do anything wrong, other than letting the students drink _sangria_…"

Vano and Domenico looked at the note that Venezia gave them. With a flourish, Vano produced paper and pen, and began to write another report. Venezia leaned in, leering at the drunken Spaniard.

"Do tell me more about IAHF, Antonio," she cooed.

* * *

><p>"I don't know what to feel about this, really," Workbitch was confessing to Françoise as a blue portal flickered into existence a few metres away from them. "I mean, I don't know what she sees in me, and –" he cut off abruptly as a familiar figure stepped through the portal. "Agent Elerossiel! What brings you here?" That uneasy curling feeling returned. Eledhwen Elerossiel's appearances usually led to bad news.<p>

"I bring news," the _elleth_ said briskly, brushing imaginary dust off her uniform and handing a set of papers to Workbitch. "You were inquiring about PPC technology. We have conclusive proof that someone has tampered with the Department of Sufficiently Advanced Technology's stores."

"Conclusive proof?" echoed Workbitch, looking through the papers. "What do you mean?"

"A Remote Activator and a Chronologically Correct Time Device were stolen months ago, prior to the IAHF attack," Eledhwen replied.

"You only figured out now?"

"We had no time to go chasing after missing gadgets!" growled Eledhwen. "Look, someone finally took the opportunity to track down the missing technology. The Remote Activator and the Chronologically Correct Time Device are in Venice right now."

"Venice?" Françoise demanded. "Pourquoi?"

Eledhwen shrugged, looking eager to redo the Frenchwoman's hurried hairdo. "That is not the pressing matter here. The pressing matter is that the components of the Remote Activator and the Chronologically Correct Time Device have been combined in a way that creates a time machine."

Workbitch frowned, before starting to put two and two together in his head. "You're saying that this caused the mass disappearance back in September? Time travel?"

"Perhaps." Eledhwen began to walk back to her portal. "Shall I keep you updated on this?"

"If you can," Workbitch called as the _elleth_ disappeared. He looked down at the papers. "If you can," he repeated quietly.

* * *

><p>"<em>The secretary, greatly enraged and stamping his feet, ran about like a man possessed, and called Nicolo Rossi to give him the news straightaway. Both of them armed themselves and said privately, 'We go to warn our friends'.<em>"

* * *

><p>Bled light seeped from the Chronotransporter, engulfing the room. Emma began to cry; Mr. Hugh tried to placate her.<p>

"It'll be all right," he murmured to her. "It'll be all right."

Bled light snaked through the Palazzo Foscarini. It blinded Loki Shadow Reave as she attempted to pin Lucifer Morningstar against a wall. It cocooned Peter Hawthorne and Lila Kirk as they sat side-by-side in the courtyard, looking up at the stars. It blanketed a slumbering Susanna Black-White as Allison Frazier looked on with horrified eyes.

"Susanna! What the hell, Susanna? Wake up!" the cross-dresser hissed, shaking her friend as the Bled light engulfed the two of them.

Bled light manoeuvred through the darkened streets of Venice, seeking out Mighty Major J as he daubed messages on the underside of a bridge, seeking out Arthur Kirkland as he sat as his desk with a cup of tea, seeking out Feliciano and Chibitalia as they watched Antonio talk to the people in that bar. Bled light snaked into the bar, wrapping its tendrils around a confused Antonio as Venezia, Vano, and Domenico watched.

But the Chronotransporter had been a few minutes too late.

* * *

><p>"<em>Why the hell did my master lock me up? What am I supposed to have done?<em>"

"_We don't know anything about you, but your master is behaving insanely, like ours and Don Giulio Cazzari. They've gone cuckoo_."

* * *

><p>When the light cleared, Mr. Hugh and Mr. Allen found themselves outside the Palazzo Ducale. Foscarini was just leaving with the other Senators.<p>

"Disappeared on me again, I see!" Foscarini exclaimed when he saw them. "We just concluded a Senatorial meeting. Let's go home."

Emma whimpered. Mr. Hugh looked down at her, eyes concerned. "Shh," he murmured to the baby girl.

Emma's whimpering grew.

* * *

><p><em>I fear we may be too late<em>, the Chronotransporter hissed as Satow and Kane boarded the gondola. _We need to get to the Palazzo Ducale. Quick_!

"Why?" Satow demanded, even as the students began to reappear at the Palazzo Foscarini, looking dazed and confused. Ludwig Beilschmidt began running towards them, his expression concerned. Satow pushed the gondola away from its landing, starting to row as well as he could in his haste.

_I've pinpointed the date as 8 April 1622. Foscarini is in grave danger. This is the reason why I wanted to obtain Vano's spy reports_, the Chronotransporter grumbled. _I wanted to save him_.

"You could have told us," Kane said quietly. "It's no use, keeping your objectives to yourself. You should have told us that getting the reports meant saving Foscarini. How else were we supposed to know?"

_Just row_, snapped the time machine, as Ludwig demanded where they were going.

Satow obliged. As it turned out, rowing a gondola was much more complicated than it seemed.

The stroke of a gondola's oar could be divided into two phases: the premèr and the stalìr. The premèr, or the push, was when the rower immersed the blade in the water and pushed on the shaft. The stalìr, the return, was when the rower moved the oar back to its starting point while still underwater. The rower also needed to add a downward turn to the oar to add resistance and correct the gondola's lopsided movement. Gondolas were as different from English punt boats as apples were to oranges; Satow quickly figured that out after he realised that the oar was not as deep as the canal itself.

They made slow progress up the Canale Santa Margherita.

* * *

><p>"<em>They say a gentleman called Foscarini has been imprisoned<em>."

* * *

><p>Nobody expected the Venetian Inquisition.<p>

Or was that the Inquisitors of State?

"Foscarini!" someone called, before saying something in Venetian. Foscarini turned towards the speaker.

Two men appeared out of nowhere and grabbed his arms. The speaker stepped out of the shadows. It was one of the Inquisitors of State, and his expression was sombre.

Foscarini's expression paled. Emma began to cry again.

"Run!" the Senator cried as the men began to march him back into the Palazzo Ducale. Mr. Hugh and Mr. Allen looked at each other before darting away from the palace.

They didn't get far.

* * *

><p>Jennifer turned the page, intending on reading more of Vano's report.<p>

A smaller note caught her eye. Frowning, she read that quickly.

"_Sir Antonio Foscarini, son of Sir Nicolo, is thereby accused of meeting secretly and frequently with the Ministers of foreign Princes. He has revealed the most intimate secrets of the republic, by mouth and in written notes. He has been paid for such services. He has entertained and sheltered foreigners at his house._

_He is to be arrested_."


	18. Destroying a Fourth Wall

**Additional Disclaimer:** I do not own Homestuck, Nyan Cat, Cthulhu, the Romulans, or Slenderman.

**Notes:** Registration for students closes next chapter. Submitting writing for the seminar is still open -coughI'dlikesomewritingcough-.

* * *

><p><strong>Part XVIII<strong>

"Where are Mr. Allen and Mr. Hugh?"

"I don't know. Did they appear at the palazzo?"

"Where are Satow and Kane?"

"They left." Everyone turned to look at Ludwig, who had just arrived.

"Left?" Roderich echoed, massaging his temples.

"Ja. Left. Gone. On a gondola."

"Escaped? Searching?" Elisabeta wondered.

"How are we to know, aru?" Yao sighed, folding his arms. "Do we know where they went?"

"In the direction of the Grand Canal and the Piazza di San Marco," Ludwig replied, causing Feliciano to wince at his Italian butchering.

* * *

><p>Satow and Kane tied up the gondola and leapt out, ascending the steps towards the Piazetta di San Marco and the Palazzo Ducale. The Chronotransporter seemed to emitting an aura of brooding, if that gloomy dark-Bled light signified anything.<p>

Yes, apparently Bled comes in shades.

"Can you see them?" Kane asked, craning her neck and squinting into the crowd gathered around the outside of the Palazzo Ducale.

"No," Satow sighed. They ran forward into the crowd, hoping to see a familiar face – or two identical, familiar faces.

"Hugh!" Kane cried suddenly, reaching out. Satow followed her gaze to see Mr. Hugh being marched away by guards. A few paces away, Mr. Allen was facing the same fate.

"Takeda! Take Emma!" Mr. Allen cried, as the guards escorting Mr. Hugh and the bawling Emma reached the doors of the palazzo. Kane ran towards them; Mr. Hugh handed her the howling Emma as he disappeared through the doors and out of sight.

"Where are you going?" she asked Mr. Allen. He shook his head, mouthing 'I don't know' at her as he, too, disappeared. Kane ran for the door, but was barred by more guards.

Satow grabbed her hand. "We were too late," he murmured, his voice mournful. Kane looked at the Chronotransporter; it seemed to have the same melancholy mood as her husband – that is, if time machines had moods at all.

"Why were they taken?" she asked, rocking Emma back and forth as the girl's cries deadened into whimpers.

_I have no idea_, the Chronotransporter replied. _This isn't how it's supposed to happen. The Mary Sues must have tampered with something._

"So we kill the Mary Sues to set the timeline right?" Satow asked.

The Chronotransporter seemed to ponder that for a moment. _I don't think that will help. What's done is done._

"But what about the butterfly effect?" Satow hissed. "If we keep on moving like this… what if we mess up the rest of history?"

_This is but a small deviation_, replied the Chronotransporter.

"But you wanted to save Foscarini, which would have made a bigger rift in the timeline."

_That's what's bothering me. Do I save an innocent man and destroy the rest of Venetian history, or do I let him die and live with the regret?_

"Do time machines even have regret?"

_You know what I mean_, the time machine snapped. We should go somewhere else to discuss this.

They headed back to the gondola. By now, Emma was sleeping. Satow began to row the gondola back to the palazzo.

"So, what are we discussing?" he asked the Chronotransporter.

_Vano's reports_, replied the time machine. _The Venetians kept them in a file labelled File 636. The first few reports were accurate, until a figure named Battista started showing up._

"Battista?"

_According to Vano, Battista was his informant in the Spanish Embassy. There was actually no Battista._

"Until now," Kane added.

"Until now?" echoed Satow.

"I think that's how the Mary Sues are interfering with the timeline," replied Kane. "They're posing as Battista. Or at least one of them is."

"That seems likely," Satow muttered. "But we can't prove that the Mary Sues are posing as Battista. Wasn't there a fellow named Zuan Battista Bragadin?"

"But he's dead," Kane pointed out. "Vano reported him."

"Was he innocent?"

_No, he was guilty._

"Couldn't Bragadin have given Vano the information prior to his death?"

"But Foscarini's innocent." Kane looked down at Emma's slumbering face, sighing. "If Bragadin gave Vano the information while posing as Battista, then that would have made Foscarini guilty."

_And ultimately_, continued the Chronotransporter, _Vano was executed for perjury, because the government finally realised that there was no Battista. If the Mary Sues are posing as Battista, then Vano would live and Foscarini wouldn't be exonerated. The rest of his family would fall into disrepute, and the Council of Ten would continue to seize power. You see, after Foscarini's exoneration, the Council lost a lot of power. But if there's no way to exonerate Foscarini, then there's no way to stop the Council._

"Splendid. _Now_ you choose the time to make the situation worse," Satow grumbled. "I can see bits of Lilith shining right through you. You are positively insufferable."

_When you're the creation of Lilith Wydenbrooke, you don't know how to be not-insufferable_, the time machine retorted.

* * *

><p>"It's been two hours already since our appearance," Roderich sighed. "Foscarini still hasn't appeared at his house."<p>

"He could be in a Senatorial meeting."

"But where are Allen and Hugh?" Mary wondered. "It's all suspicious."

Ludwig coughed. "Right. So Satow and Kane are gone, and Foscarini and the Course Coordinators haven't even appeared yet. We have no idea where they are or where they're going."

"Write it down, write it down," Francis insisted, nudging Arthur. The Briton glowered at him but continued to write. "Keep that pen moving, l'Angleterre, keep that pen moving."

"Shut up, frog!" Arthur snapped.

* * *

><p>"They've escaped again," Venezia muttered to Alicia, Francesca, and Julietta as they left the bar back in 1621. "I'm guessing that they're going directly to the date of Foscarini's arrest."<p>

"How can you be sure?" Francesca demanded.

Venezia produced a piece of paper with a flourish. "Information on Foscarini, see? I gave a copy of this to Vano."

"So _you're_ Battista," Alicia snickered.

"Exactly." Venezia brandished the paper. "Foscarini used to be the Ambassador to England and France."

"Iggy and Francis!" squealed Francesca.

Venezia raised an eyebrow. "Yes. Those two. While in England, Foscarini was recalled because his secretary accused him of treason. They thought he was spying for Spain."

"Was he?"

"Well, _no_, because he's alive!" snapped Venezia, rolling her eyes. "Treason is punishable by death in Venice! They found him innocent, which is why he's still alive!"

More blank stares. Venezia stared at them, hoping that her collaborators weren't truly this moronic. "Can't you see? This is perfect!" she screeched.

"What's perfect?" Julietta wondered.

"You weren't listening, were you?"

"No, I was daydreaming about Romeo!"

"Goddamn it!" Venezia smacked Julietta with the paper. "Listen for once, and stop thinking about having Romeo's star-crossed babies! A Mary Sue's life isn't all about having sex, you know!"

"Actually, you're wrong about that," Alicia countered. "The purpose of a Mary Sue is to allow her creator to live vicariously. The Mary Sue gets a happy life, absolute perfection in everything she does, and her creator's ideal mate. So, because the Mary Sue is usually created by brainless, hormone-driven teenage girls, her only purpose in life would be to get the ideal mate and shag all coherent thought out of his or her brains for the creator's benefit."

Pause. The other Mary Sues scrambled to pick up the pieces of the fourth wall that Alicia had just shattered.

"I'll pretend that you didn't just break that wall," Venezia grumbled. "Look. This plan is the perfect opportunity for us to get rid of the IAHF Course Coordinators."

"I bet you're not going to kill Fraser, though," Alicia snickered, as Francesca and Julietta patched up the fourth wall with buckets and buckets of Glitter.

"What makes you say that?" demanded Venezia, her eyes narrowing.

"You say his name at night!" Francesca trilled, giggling like a squirrel on helium. "Oh Hughie, Hughie, take me now!"

Venezia turned pinker than their gondola. She lashed out, shoving Francesca against the side of the pub. "You little bitch! Don't mention that ever again!" she hissed.

"Or else what? You'll moan her name at night?" Alicia cackled.

"Shut the fuck up!" Venezia stormed into the gondola and snapped her fingers. The gondolier appeared out of a nearby plothole. "You are lucky I don't have Marco with me, or –"

"Aw come on, Vennie," Francesca giggled. "When will you get it? Marco's not a real winged lion…"

"He is, too!" growled Venezia. "Now get in, or I'll leave you behind and you'll have to explain it to the Venomous Tentacula."

The other three Mary Sues quickly boarded the gondola.

* * *

><p>Back at IAHF, the Staff was preparing for graduation, the new semester, Christmas, and the Writers' Seminar. The various other incarnations of Alfred and Matthew were planning a Thanksgiving party as well.<p>

It was no wonder why everyone in the Staff seemed more twitchy and sleep-deprived than usual. McCarthy Alfred, who was already twitchy to begin with, had banished nearly half of the Evolution of War class to Auchwits for talking too loudly. Kuro Kiku went down and pardoned them later. At midnight.

Workbitch seemed to only run on caffeine pills now, running from class to class, office to office, and outside as well to make sure everything was functional. Jennifer could see him right now from her room; he was observing the figure skating class with a slight slump to his shoulders. On the ice, Roberta Steel had just attempted a jump and nearly lost a few nuts and bolts.

Jennifer set down File 636, left her room, and headed towards the Customs office. Workbitch had tried to interfere with Customs as well, but Kriss and Merka had blocked him on grounds that if he did he would go insane from overwork. Now that five people were working Customs for the next semester – Peter Kirkland, Berwald Øxenstierna, Tino Väinämöinen, Kriss, and Merka – Workbitch really had no need to interfere.

"What's going on?" Jennifer asked Merka and Kriss as she took a seat across from them in the office. It sported five tables, plenty of lights, and mountains of papers. Peter Kirkland was napping on a pile of papers.

"Berwald and Tino took a break," Merka replied. "Ditto for Peter here."

Peter snored. Kriss giggled.

"How many more students left to register?" Jennifer took one of the forms and scrutinised it. It appeared to be about a Romulan named Alexis Cal. She had a formidable list of fears. Jennifer was pretty sure Merka and Kriss had taken note of them all and assigned Alexis to a room that was small, high up, and only accessible by elevator. That was how Customs rolled, after all.

"We're not sure," Merka admitted. "But we've got interesting students in the lineup. I look forward to seeing these Homestucker students! Especially this one." She pointed to her form. "She's the personification of Alternia!"

Recently, Merka had been one of the chief proponents of unity between the Homestuck and Hetalia fandoms. She was a breath away from asking Workbitch to have a special Crossover seminar dedicated to that, only refraining because planning that could potentially be the straw to break Workbitch's back.

The fact that the trolls still hadn't shown up to guest-star in Wizard Arthur's Crossover class still hung heavily in the air.

"We have a Nyan Cat student," added Kriss. "And a Slenderman student."

"Freaky." Jennifer raised both eyebrows. She picked up another form. "What is R'lyeh?"

Kriss's eyes narrowed. "What?" she asked.

"R'lyeh. This student claims to be its personification."

Kriss grabbed the form and read it. "Intriguing," she said after a moment. Merka perked up. "Look, Merk. This bloke wrote a letter to us on the back of his form."

"Dear Mortals of IAHF," read Merka with a giggle, "Fear me. I don't quite understand exactly what IAHF is but I assure you I will conquer and enslave it. After all, that's what I do. I have recently risen from the sea to conquer this realm."

"I'd like to see him get past the Mochis," snickered Jennifer. Those Mochis were indefatigable. Norje and zpeter had recently broken the school record for most fangirls captured in ten minutes. After facing down legions of hormonal fangirls, preventing the personification of Cthulhu's city from taking over the school would be like taking candy from a baby with no opposable thumbs.

"Come on, let me finish reading this," Merka insisted. "My true form is capable of causing instant insanity in all who see it – obviously, his true form is a can of Bled paint." Kriss and Jennifer laughed.

"That would cause instant blindness, too," Jennifer pointed out.

"Well, fortunately for our eyes he's going to be in human form. How considerate," Kriss deadpanned as Merka did some highly sensitive clerical duties that should not be printed here, because the registration process is a confidential matter. Information about it should never leave the Customs Office.

"Do you two have any information about the writing pieces being critiqued in the workshop?" Jennifer asked as Merka finished registering the personification of R'lyeh and Kriss got to work on a demonic cat named Malicious One.

"Some spectacular student work will be read," Kriss replied, her voice dripping with sarcasm, "as well as some pieces that may not have been created by students but by their fellow fanbrats. Prospective students, if you will."

"You were a fanbrat once, don't forget," Merka chided gently.

"I wasn't bad enough to put a banana in England's ear," Kriss muttered.

"But you did make a Mary Sue."

"Shut up, I don't need to remember that!"

Jennifer had picked up another form. "When are midterms again?" she asked.

"Week before holidays. Get a calendar," Merka grumbled. "Who do you have over there?"

"Meep." Jennifer had been skimming the form, her expression paling with every line. Merka walked over and grabbed the form. Her face turned an alarming shade of chartreuse.

"Disgusting! Too much information!" Merka gasped, causing Kriss to crane her neck over to read the form.

"Gloria Barber," the Asakiku fangirl read, squinting. "Seventy-eight years old. Loves Britannia Angel… and Michael. Wait a second, why would she fangirl Michael Arch? He's only a minor character!"

"Why would people fangirl Mr. Allen and Mr. Hugh?" Jennifer retorted. Merka shuddered.

"I'd be more concerned that she's homing in on your Angel boytoy," Kriss teased. "Since we all know you and Workbitch are dying out – speaking of which, did you break up yet? The shipping wall demands an answer."

"Not yet," Jennifer admitted. "And what the hell? Michael's not my Angel boytoy. Shut up."

"You denied that Workbitch was your workbitching boytoy," Merka pointed out. "And look where that took you."

"Shut up," Jennifer repeated. "I'm concerned about Michael, yes, considering that his first fangirl is a porn-loving old lady. That's enough to scar anyone for life, you know."

"Speaking of scarring people for life, we had to detain Sean Tanaka in the Golag for two weeks after he tried to give phallus-shaped lollipops to Liechtenstein," Merka groaned. "The creepers at this school just keep multiplying."

"Yeah, we're lucky that MMJ's changed," Kriss agreed. "Maybe he'll fuck some sense into Faye, but that's a big maybe."

"How do we know? They're in Venice." Merka finalised the registration for Michael's first fangirl. "I've got to go pester Shoste Thermo now. Catch you two later! Love you, Krissy-kins."

Kriss smiled as Merka left the Customs office.

* * *

><p>Mr. Hugh sat up in his dank prison cell to see Mr. Allen in the cell across from his. They were in the pozzi, the infamous ground-level prison cells of the Palazzo Ducale. The two of them had been interrogated by the Venetians, although it didn't go on as long as they had expected. There were differences between Venetian and Italian, after all.<p>

"Allen!" he called. Mr. Allen, slumped against the bars, looked over at him.

"Hugh," he mumbled. "Hate to say the obvious, but… _shit_."

'Shit' was a pretty accurate description of their surroundings. The pozzi, or 'wells', were eighteen wood-lined cells connected by murky corridors. Practically every type of insect and rodent lived here, and the very air seemed to oppress the two Course Coordinators. Even the government would eventually deem them inhospitable, but as of now that was no comfort for Messrs. Allen and Hugh.

"Where's Foscarini?" Mr. Allen asked after a moment.

"He wouldn't be down here," Mr. Hugh replied. "Upper-class inmates go to the piombi." The piombi were under the lead-covered roofs of the palazzo; they were notorious for being furnaces in the summer and igloos in the winter.

"Did you catch why they arrested us?" Mr. Allen asked, grasping the bars and looking over at his alter-ego. Mr. Hugh shrugged, looking away.

Outside, the night was lightening into dawn.


	19. Cold Turkey

**Notes:** Winter registration is now closed.  
>Once again I will reiterate the plea to stop giving me character notes. It hampers the creative process, and I will ask for notes when I want them. Thank you for your understanding.<p>

I'm very sorry about the delay. As some of you may know, I've got a lot on my plate with school, family, and emotional issues. Things are tense between me and mum because she actually wants me to abandon BSD completely. I can't do that (not after slaving for half a year on IAHF and getting to know all of you lovely folks), so she's pretty much resorted to reinforcing the writer's block with steel supports. So if you end up waiting a month or so for the next chapter, that would be the reason. Many apologies.  
>On the upside, I am looking at getting my stuff published in literary magazines. I'm also participating in some writers' competitions. Look out for those if you want.<p>

* * *

><p><strong>Part IXX<strong>

"Tell me again. Why are we doing this?" Elise demanded as she, Violet, Susanna, and Allison wandered through Venice with lanterns in their hands.

"Because Charlie Tenterden said so," Susanna replied, waving at Stan as he walked past. "Stan, it's not your shift."

"No, but I couldn't sleep." Stan loped over to them, grinning. Elise hid a smile. "Roger, Nanise, and Sandra have all been bothering me, and I still have no idea where Nicole went. But hey. Did you hear that –?"

"That Peter Hawthorne and Lila Kirk are going out? Old news, buddy," Elise remarked snappishly, but if anyone had bothered shining a light to her face they would have noticed her bright red cheeks.

"No, everyone knows it. Peter just thinks that no one knows." Stan snorted. "What I was about to say was… shit… I forgot."

"You shouldn't wander around in the dark here; it's dangerous," Violet pointed out.

"I can defend myself. Ashton West taught me how."

"He's an angel of _death_," sniffed Susanna. "Do you have any news about where Misters Allen and Hugh could be?"

"That's what I was about to say!" Stan snapped his fingers. "I heard from someone that they're imprisoned somewhere."

"That's vague," Allison muttered, scowling at her dress for the umpteenth time.

"They're supposedly at the Palazzo Ducale. You know… the one with the pillared entrance."

"We showed up in there, we know," Susanna sighed. "What else?"

"Wait, someone's got news?" Lila's voice came out of nowhere. Moments later, the Oddballs appeared.

"Is it your shift? I forgot." Susanna rummaged around in the folds of her dress and pulled out a timetable. "Oh. It is."

"I would think that the lanterns would give it away," Ursula scoffed. "So. News?"

"Palazzo Ducale," Stan said, looking intently at Peter. Peter nodded.

"Rumours?" he asked. He and Lila had shown up hand-in-hand. Kira sniggered, nudging Elise and pointing. Ursula shoved Kira.

"Yeah, but we haven't searched that part of Venice anyway. It's worth a shot." Stan shrugged. "I better head back."

"Bye," Elise muttered. Stan grinned at her. She looked away. As Stan walked off, the two search parties looked at each other.

"We should check out this lead. But how?" Susanna asked.

"Canals?" Allison suggested.

"Who here knows how to row a gondola?"

"Can't be too hard; it seems to work like an English punt boat,"

Ursula scoffed. "Idiots. Gondolas aren't like English punt boats. You actually have to row."

"But no one here knows how to row. Unless you do?"

"Didn't Loki say that some guy named Satow knows how to row a gondola?"

"Who's Satow, yo?"

"Which rock have _you _been living under, Kira?"

"You're such a meanie-head, yo!"

"And you're an immature brat!"

"Calm your tits, you two!" Lila snapped, causing Susanna to gasp and mouth 'she said tits!' at Elise and Violet. The other two girls rolled their eyes. "Can we go for one evening without the two of you bickering?"

"Well, who else are we going to talk to, yo? You and Peter cuddle all over the place and it's awkward, yo!"

Splash! What was that? Why, it was the sound of an awkward turtle swimming through the nearby canal. That is, if there were turtles in seventeenth-century Venice.

"Can we… uh… talk about something else?" Susanna asked after a moment. "Like… oh, I don't know, finding a way to get to the Palazzo Ducale? I'd like to ignore Kira's last statement."

"Let's," Peter said hastily, his face redder than Antonio Foscarini's senatorial robes.

* * *

><p>Thanksgiving in IAHF usually snuck in the back door, since only Alfred and Matthew really had any reason to celebrate. The Alfreds were planning the Thanksgiving dinner, so it was only natural to see them huddled together at any given moment, mumbling things about turkey stuffing and where Punk Arthur stuck the gravy boat.<p>

"I'm pretty sure he left it in the conservatory," Revolutionary War Alfred was telling Aviator Alfred that Thursday as Kempeitai Kiku walked past with a thick stack of Canon 101 notes. They had flipped around the schedule that week to mess with the students (Merka and Kriss had reported hearing several indignant outbursts when the students had arrived at their Canon 101 classes on Tuesday only to hear that the Tuesday and Thursday classes had been flipped) and to accommodate a special Thanksgiving lecture on how the Europeans colonised the New World.

"Where in the conservatory?" Aviator Alfred was asking as Kempeitai Kiku rounded the corner and left the Staff Section. He nearly collided with Vivian Hawthorne as she ran past him screaming something about being late; Hungury was bouncing madly after the poor fangirl.

Kempeitai Kiku entered the Orientation Hall, smirking to himself. SIM Feliciano and Gestapo Ludwig were already on the platform, pulling up the presentation on the overhead projector. The students entered the hall late; Gestapo Ludwig assigned all of them detention.

"You could have told us that we were meeting here instead of the classrooms!" C. Jeannete Hernandez exclaimed petulantly.

Gestapo Ludwig sniggered. "We could, but that wouldn't be very evil, would it?"

"He's got a reputation to uphold. Cut him some slack!" Ulrich yelled.

The self-proclaimed churro-eating Mexican bristled, causing her sombrero to quiver ominously. "You can't explain it away like that! The classrooms are on the other side of the school!"

Gestapo Ludwig coughed and slammed the Canon 101 textbook onto the table, jolting several people awake. "Wake up!" he barked. "Today we are discussing, in recognition of the thanksgiving feast between the Pilgrims and the Wampanoag Indians, the settlement of the Americas by Europeans. Who can name the first Europeans to visit the Americas?"

Fayane Tyme raised her hand. "Didn't the Norse discover the New World in 980 AD?" she asked.

Gestapo Ludwig nodded. "Ja, the earliest contact between Native Americans and Europeans was in 980, when Norse expansionists and Inuits started trading in Greenland."

"They tried to trade with the Beothuk Indians in Newfoundland later on," continued Kempeitai Kiku, "but that didn't work out very well."

"Yeah, but they named Newfoundland Vinland! It's like Finland, but with a V," giggled SIM Feliciano. "Isn't it funny?"

"Aren't the Nordics still mad at you and Antonio?" Gestapo Ludwig asked. "For the whole Columbus thing?"

"He did kinda take the credit, didn't he?" SIM Feliciano grinned. "But I think he's more Antonio's problem than mine!"

"But he's Genoese," Kempeitai Kiku pointed out.

"Working for Spain because they were the only ones who wanted to help him! He was a bit crazy, don't you think?"

"A bit crazy?" Kempeitai Kiku groaned. "He confused Cuba-san for me! I am not that tan…"

"Now Cuba knows what it feels like to get mistaken, right? I mean, isn't he always confusing Alfred and that other guy –"

"Matthew!" several Canada fangirls yelled in unison.

"Yeah, him!" SIM Feliciano grinned. "But since we're on the topic of Columbus, why don't we continue? Columbus discovered the New World on 12 October 1492. He found this one island –"

"That Damn Island?" Christine Blacke asked.

"Columbus called it San Salvador, but it was really something that began with a G! Guan… Guan…"

"Guanahaní," Dorothy Brown offered.

"Yeah, that! Grazie!" SIM Feliciano beamed, causing several North Italy fangirls to swoon. One of them launched herself out of her seat at him, but Hetaltia got to her before she even made it to the aisle.

Gestapo Ludwig coughed again as the screaming fangirl was dragged away. "Ja, Columbus 'discovered' Guanahaní and the Taino Indians who lived there – in fact, the reason why we call Native Americans 'Indians' is because Columbus mistook this island for India."

"And confused Cuba for Japan," Kempeitai Kiku added.

"The reason why Columbus decided to sail in the first place was because Portugal, already undergoing revolutions in shipbuilding and navigation, had control over the sea routes to India and Asia," Gestapo Ludwig explained as SIM Feliciano played with the laser pointer. "The Ottoman Empire controlled land routes, and the Venetians manipulated the Mediterranean – Feliciano! Don't shine that light into your eyes!"

"It's so bright!" SIM Feliciano cooed, causing Kempeitai Kiku to facepalm and wonder how that Italian managed to manipulate the Mediterranean as a kid.

"It will blind you, you dummkopf!" the grumpy German seized the pointer from the now-blubbering Italian. "Moving on! Christopher Columbus thought that he could find an alternate route to Asia by sailing westward instead of going around the Portuguese-controlled Cape of Good Hope. As we know, he discovered the New World instead. After finding gold on Hispaniola – the island of Haiti and the Dominican Republic – Columbus and the Spanish started colonising."

"They were really mean to the natives!" SIM Feliciano added. "They enslaved the natives and made them mine for gold and silver and cut off their hands when they couldn't bring back enough gold and silver!" Some of the younger students fainted.

"At the same time, millions of Indians died of diseases brought by the Spanish," added Kempeitai Kiku. "That led to the Spanish importing African slaves to make up for the lost Indian labour."

Gestapo Ludwig nodded. "Meanwhile in Europe, other Nations were setting out to explore the New World. Spain and Portugal signed the Treaty of Tordesillas in 1494, which divided the Atlantic world between Spain and Portugal. England disregarded that, though, because in 1497 they sent John Cabot to explore the North Atlantic. Cabot claimed Newfoundland and Nova Scotia for England, but the English didn't settle in until sixty years later.

"The Spanish explored mostly Latin and South America, although they established some settlements in North America. The French also explored parts of North America and established fur trading relations with the Natives, but it was the English who really colonised North America."

The USUK fangirls sighed happily, but Fayane raised her hand again. "Hey, didn't the Swedish settle in North America first?" she asked.

"Actually, no." Kempeitai Kiku coughed a little, shuffling his notes. "The first successful English colony was established in 1607. That was Jamestown, Virginia."

"Oh, like in _Pocahontas_?" Vivian Hawthorne asked eagerly.

"_Pocahontas_ isn't historically accurate," snapped Ilsa Heine. "She was only eleven when John Smith got captured by the Powhatans."

"Disney caters to fantasy, not history," Gestapo Ludwig pointed out. "New Sweden was established in 1638, so no; the Swedish were not there first. New Netherlands, however, was established in 1609."

"Oh, I remember that episode!" Jillian the Pikachu exclaimed happily. "Finland was crying to England and France about Netherlands seizing his villa!"

"And then they duked it out for Chibimerica!" squealed Stephanie Marie.

"It was so cute!" finished Anya Mae the part-owl, hooting happily.

At the podium, Gestapo Ludwig, SIM Feliciano, and Kempeitai Kiku looked at each other hopelessly.

"Why can't time speed up, Luddy?" SIM Feliciano whined. "I'm hungry…"

Gestapo Ludwig muttered something that sounded vaguely like 'fuck my life' in German. Kempeitai Kiku hid a smile.

"All right, everyone. We're moving on. Let's talk about the settlements of Jamestown and Plymouth…"

* * *

><p>"Hugh!" Mr. Hugh was stirred from his slumber to see a figure in the doorway of his cell. In the dim firelight of the torch that a nearby guard was holding, the Course Coordinator could see that the figure was female.<p>

He frowned. "Who are you?"

The woman took the torch and stepped into the room. It was Venezia. Mr. Hugh's frown deepened. "Venezia?" he hissed.

"Venezia?" echoed Mr. Allen from a cell not too far away. There was a dull thump. Mr. Hugh cringed.

"What have you done to him?" he demanded. Venezia smirked.

"I'm here to offer you a chance to escape," she replied. "With me."

Mr. Hugh squinted at her. "With you," he echoed.

Venezia put the torch in a bracket and moved over to where he sat on his cot, taking great care to add a little extra sway to her hips. "Yes, I'm willing to help you get out of here. You're innocent, right? I believe you're innocent. You simply couldn't be a Spanish spy. Not at all."

Mr. Hugh frowned. "Spanish spy? Whatever made you believe that?"

"That's the reason why you're here; didn't you know?" Venezia clapped a hand to her mouth. "You silly boy. Don't you know anything that happens around here?"

"I know that there were tensions between the Venetians and the Spanish regarding the supposed conspiracy of 1618," Mr. Hugh muttered, "but that doesn't make me a spy! Do I even _look_ Spanish?"

"You're consorting with Antonio Foscarini, aren't you? He's guilty of treason, you know."

"Guilty of treason? How? Just because he's being kind and sheltering some stray time travellers –" Mr. Hugh cut himself off before he could continue, but Venezia's eyes lit up.

"Time travellers?" she echoed. "Do tell."

Mr. Hugh shook his head. "I've said too much."

"But that's exactly how you're going to convince me to let you get out of here," Venezia coaxed. "Tell me about this time travelling thing. What's helping you do it? Is it a bird? A plane? Or is it a suitcase containing the creations of Lilith Wydenbrooke?"

Mr. Hugh stared at her.

* * *

><p>"The students haven't returned from their shifts yet," Andy noted to Sara as he paced around the Foscarini courtyard. Sara rolled her eyes.<p>

"Calm your tits, bro," Sara grumbled.

"She's my sister!" Andy yelled. "I don't trust him!"

"Hawthorne?" Taylor Drews-Garcia and Franklin Mycroft Livingston stepped out into the courtyard. "Uncool bloke, right? Frank and I have been teaching him how to act around girls. Seems like it's worked!"

"Yeah, with my sister," Andy growled.

"Hey!" Taylor laughed. "That's perfect! That's so wonderful!"

"It's not! I don't trust him!"

"Chill." Sara rolled her eyes. Andy lit his pipe (cigarettes weren't available in 17th century Venice, but tobacco from the New World definitely was – and cheap tobacco, too). "Look, maybe there's a reason why they haven't returned."

"Yeah. He's corrupting my innocent little –"

"I think your sister knows more about these things than Hawthorne, buddy," Taylor cackled. "And speaking of people out at night, where's Loki?"

Sara shrugged. "She said she'd go out for a walk after dinner. Dunno."

"I saw Lucifer with her," Franklin said suddenly. Everyone looked at him.

"Lucifer? Like… Morningstar Lucifer? Fallen Angel Lucifer? Loki-thought-he-was-a-loser Lucifer?" Sara snickered.

"There was something strange about them, that I can easily say," Franklin agreed.

Sara giggled. "I'm never going to let her live this down!"

"Really." Andy deadpanned. "Really." He blew out a smoke ring.

"Come on, Andy, they're probably fine. Maybe they're following a lead," Franklin suggested, patting the other's shoulder.

Andy sighed and took another drag from his pipe.

* * *

><p>The Thanksgiving party started out smoothly. But once it got <em>started<em>, things _started_ to go downhill.

A stormy-looking Workbitch sat at the head of the table, carving the turkey as if he was dismembering a corpse. Next to him stood the various incarnations of Alfred and Arthur, all of them looking extremely worried at Workbitch's murderous cutting.

"Calm down," Revolutionary War Alfred suggested after a moment as Chibimerica ducked under the table, trembling in fear.

Workbitch arched an eyebrow. Across the table, Jennifer bit her lower lip. The students assembled at the table looked at each other.

"Really, 'e's got a point," Pirate Arthur grumbled. "Ye need t' calm down, mate."

"Work, please. Take a break. We know where the missing people are now," Jennifer advised from her seat, her voice small and rather reedy. Workbitch looked up from his turkey.

"I can't calm down," he muttered. "Not when you're the reason why."

Jennifer frowned. "I'm the reason why? If I was, then why didn't you tell me?"

Workbitch pointed the carving knife at her. "You've been seeing other people behind my back, haven't you?"

"I have not! Don't be ridiculous!" Jennifer laughed harshly. "Put the knife down."

Workbitch stabbed the knife into the turkey. Several people scooted their chairs away from the table. Zariana-Sylvia Middleford started crying.

"Don't deny it." The Interim Course Coordinator glared. "Michael Arch, isn't it?"

"He's a friend. Nothing more. I haven't done anything with him!"

"Work, really," Aviator Alfred muttered, "I think ya need to take a break."

"Take a break from what? I've been bogged down with work since the disappearance! Finding out where the students are, organising classes for the rest of this semester and the next, supervising Mochi spawning, supervising detentions, supervising the Concentration Camps, keeping an eye on you _insufferable_ Bled Pinjas –" here he glared at Pirate Arthur and Ninja Kiku, "keeping track of PPC memos, keeping track of recent fandom movements, keeping track of Mary Sues –"

"Yes we get it! Why aren't you asking for help with this, though? I could have helped you!" Jennifer exclaimed.

Some of the students left, muttering things about trying to get their homework done for Friday's classes. Others stayed. Kriss and Merka were watching Jennifer and Workbitch like spectators at a tennis match.

"Oh, look at the time!" Aviator Alfred pretended to yawn. "I've got to go water the fish! Come on, Artie." He tugged at Pirate Arthur's coat.

"Y'have th' wors' excuses, ye dolt," the English pirate grumbled as he left with the American aviator.

"Wait for me, Arthur-san," Ninja Kiku called as he, too, evacuated the room.

Workbitch and Jennifer paid no attention to them. "Why?" snapped Jennifer. "Why didn't you ask for help until now? Are you really that… that…"

"I couldn't trust," Workbitch said after a moment. "I couldn't trust you with the work."

"And why? Was it because I used to be a fangirl?" Jennifer stared at him, wide-eyed. "Have you always mistrusted me like this?"

"Exactly! And now that you've gone and slept with an archangel –"

"Didn't I just say that I didn't?"

"Didn't I just say that I can't trust you?"

"But…" Jennifer paused, trying to comprehend the jumbled messages in her head. "Why did you lie to me, then?" she said after a moment. "If me being a fangirl is that big of a problem to you, then why did you pretend all of this?"

"I didn't pretend that." Workbitch shook his head. "I genuinely liked you. This is business stuff. I couldn't trust you with that."

"But if you can't trust me with that, then you can't trust me at all." Jennifer crossed her arms, willing down the lump in her throat.

"Look –"

"Without trust, there is no love." Jennifer looked away, shuffling from one foot to the other. "Sorry."

Workbitch blinked. "Sorry for what?"

"Sorry that I didn't speak up sooner. Sorry that I didn't tell you that you were being neglectful. Sorry that I took it all in stride when you didn't stand up for me! You were always too late, too slow, too scared. I can't stand it. I'm sorry."

The other people left at the table quickly exited stage right. Michael got up and looked over at Jennifer, expression pitying. He hovered by the exit to the room, wringing his hands.

Workbitch looked down at his feet. "I shouldn't have yelled," he said after a moment. "We shouldn't have made such a scene." They paused, looking at the empty room. "Ruined dinner."

Jennifer's lips twitched in a half-smile. "I'm sorry," she agreed, wiping at her eyes. "We're over."

And with that she left the room.

* * *

><p><strong>Notes:<strong> For more information on the Age of Discoveries and the settlement of the Americas, read **ctcsherry**'s Age of Discoveries fancomic!

http : / / ctcsherry . livejournal . com / 8403 . html

Once again, apologies for any possible delays from now on.


	20. The Writers' Seminar

**Notes:** IAHF is getting translated into Danish by the wonderful **Relina-Chan**!

* * *

><p><strong>Part XX<strong>

_The following is a clipping from the _Multiverse Monitor_, the sporadically-printed newsletter of the PPC._

**2011 Mary Sue Summit Showcases Suvian Developments and Plans**

_By Nita Incog  
>Published: March 1, 2011<em>

_LEAGUE OF MARY SUE FACTORIES - More than just the usual ramblings about ensnaring Lust Objects were bandied about by notable Mary Sues at the 2011 Mary Sue Summit on February 14, 2011 at the Mary Sue Factory Happily Ever After, Ltd. _

"_We gotta have something big this year. Really. I mean, politics gets a little boring after a while," said Starr Prettprettyprincess. "There's a new Official Fanfiction University, but I don't know any of the cuties there."_

"_I'd break a nail if I had to attack an OFU," said Celeste Sakurablossom._

_Leaders of Mary Sue Factories and notable Mary Sues all gathered at the summit to discuss these 'big things' that they want to do - attack the PPC HQ (again), infiltrate some emerging fandoms (the Homestuck fandom was brought up once or twice), attack new OFUs, and travel through time._

_Yes, time travel was discussed. Lilith Wydenbrooke, the manager of Happily Ever After, Ltd., actually brought it up herself._

"_I've pirated some technology from the PPC and I intend on using that for research into time travel," said Wydenbrooke. "Suvian time travel has always been confined to a story's timeline. If we break that barrier, we can alter time in the real world, across multiple story timelines, and even in the multiverse itself. The possibilities are endless."_

_In the Canon Protection Initiative, time travel has long since been a controversial topic. The PPC and various OFUs have suffered near-devastating attacks from Mary Sues; if Mary Sues are able to mess time they will be able to mess with the outcomes of those attacks and various other events._

"_There are fears that Agents from the Enforcers of the Plot Continuum and the Protectors of the Plot Discontinuum will take this opportunity to attack us," said a PPC Agent who wished to remain unnamed for safety concerns. "They are, after all, Suvian in nature. And if the Mary Sues can control time, they can control everything."_

_The Mary Sues attending the summit, however, have not expressed any plans for attacking via time travel._

"_I'm more concerned with getting the happily ever after that was rightfully mine," said Ebony Dark'ness Dementia Raven Way. "Now get out and let me wallow in my misery."_

* * *

><p>Venezia traced the side of Mr. Hugh's face with a finger; the Course Coordinator grimaced at her touch but made no move to pull away.<p>

"This Chronotransporter is important to me, Hughie. I need it." Her breath tickled his skin. He flinched, but his eyes closed.

"Agnes Hill entrusted it to Satow and Kane," he pointed out.

Venezia laughed. "Hughie, are you really_ that _gullible?"

Mr. Hugh blinked. "What do you mean?"

"Do you even know where Satow and Kane come from?"

"Satow was a British Minister Plenipotentiary and Envoy Extraordinary to Japan, like me."

"There's more than that. Satow shouldn't be trusted with something as important as this Chronotransporter – in fact, what he's told you about Agnes Hill entrusting it to him is a lie."

"Preposterous!"

"It's the truth. Satow and Kane stole the Chronotransporter from Agnes. She had been testing it out for Lilith. She travelled to Satow's period; he and Kane stole it from her and ended up at your school when they tried to escape.

"That's far-fetched –"

"Think! Is Satow controlling the machine, or is the machine controlling Satow?" Venezia's smile vanished. "If Agnes had entrusted the Chronotransporter to Satow, then he should be able to control it, right?"

"He said the thing was broken –"

"But it worked, because now you're in 17th century Venice."

Mr. Hugh's frown deepened. "It's your word against his. You're a Mary Sue. Why should I believe you?"

Venezia rolled her eyes. "The evidence is in my favour," she asserted.

"I won't believe it until you show me the evidence," Mr. Hugh replied.

"You'd have to provide the Chronotransporter to get your evidence."

"Why would I? You're a Mary Sue." Back to square one. Venezia huffed.

"Hughie. Honestly. Is that all that concerns you?"

"Please stop calling me Hughie."

Venezia sighed. "All right then, _Hugh_." She moved away from him. "What can I do to make you believe me?"

"Nothing. I can't trust your kind."

"You're narrow-minded."

"Mary Sues nearly destroyed my school. That Lilith you work for nearly killed me. I have every right to hate you."

Venezia bit her lower lip. "I really do want to help you escape this place. You don't deserve to die here." She looked at him, a wistful gleam in her eyes. "I like you."

Mr. Hugh snorted and turned his back on her. "Several Mary Sues have told me that," he snapped.

* * *

><p>The students gathered in the Orientation Hall once again that weekend. Some of them looked bright-eyed and bushy-tailed; others looked only half-awake. Some of the half-awake students were probably responsible for rigging the giant Lust Object trap outside the Staff Section, if the Mochi bits stuck on their clothes and hair were anything to go by.<p>

(Like all student-sprung traps at IAHF, that one had been an utter failure. The perpetrators had only managed to fall into their own trap as the Mochis came investigating.)

Policeman Arthur, Aviator Alfred, and French Revolution Francis stepped up to the stage. "Welcome to the Writers' Seminar!" Policeman Arthur announced. "We have noticed that our classes haven't been focusing on the writing portion of Hetalia fanfiction, so we're rectifying that with this seminar."

"We'd like to… er… _thank_… the students who sent in stories for critiquing," continued Aviator Alfred. "They were… interesting reads."

"They ran the gamut from amazing to dogshit," Policeman Arthur snapped. "We'll begin with the dogshit and slowly make our way up. Frog, you got the presentation running?"

French Revolution Francis straightened up from the laptop. "Je ne comprends pas cette ordinature," he muttered.

"You wouldn't," sniffed Policeman Arthur as the presentation started. "Now, why don't we begin with…" he paled.

"I don't think that one counts. It's not Hetalia," Aviator Alfred noted. Some of the students were giggling weakly as they read the text on the slide. Others were nauseous.

"Isn't Jennifer the ex-girlfriend of…"Alakayie Mars began, but Christine Blacke slammed a hand over her mouth.

"I don't think Angels reproduce that way," Cain Harren remarked loudly. Next to him, Lucas and Michael were determinedly avoiding each other's gaze. "And Lucas wouldn't wear a dress."

Michael coughed. Lucas scowled and blushed.

"Okay, barring that one time in the fifteenth century when he had too much ambrosia…"

"That never happened!"

"Saint Peter had it all on tape!"

"Angels! Take your heavenly bickering somewhere else. We're moving on!" Policeman Arthur screeched. "Next is this story called 'Stereotypical'. The pairing is me and an original character. What's wrong with this story?"

"The England/OC bit? USUK all the way!" someone shouted, only to be drowned out by a chorus of hisses from the FrUK shippers.

"England/OC isn't always a bad thing," Aviator Alfred pointed out. "Canon characters can be paired with original characters. That's not our issue, though. What is?"

"The original character is vague. Why is Arthur pouncing some random chick?" Ilsa Heine demanded.

"Good. What else?"

"The stripper part," Policeman Arthur interjected before anyone else could comment. "As well as the stereotypes in the sack. I assure you, I am not –"

"Too much information, Artie. What's the most glaring mistake?"

"Not spacing dialogue," Dorothy Brown said immediately. "The tense shifts a lot, and there's too much telling."

"Telling?" alice vaughn echoed.

"Show, not tell," Dorothy explained. "It's where you let a character's actions and words reveal their personality instead of telling us outright. I mean, Arthur is relatively in-character – there are definitely worse portrayals – but still, we don't get a good grasp of the author's interpretation of his character. It's mostly just the original character pondering British stereotypes."

"Stereotypes themselves are an issue," Shoste Thermo muttered.

"Excellent point. Why would that be the case, Miss Thermo?" Policeman Arthur asked.

"Stereotypes are self-fulfilling prophecies. If you make someone believe they're a stereotype, they will conform to that stereotype." The Alternian Troll crossed her arms. "They shouldn't define a Hetalia Nation."

"But she says that not all stereotypes are true when it comes to the English," Fayane Tyme pointed out, grinning weakly.

"Yeah, but the author's assuming that everyone views the world through stereotypes," Shoste retorted.

Policeman Arthur coughed before Fayane could respond. "Any other complaints?"

"Grammar and mechanics. We already mentioned the dialogue problem. There are also some fragments," Ilsa Heine said immediately.

Policeman Arthur nodded. "Right. This next one is untitled, but it's once again it's about me. With some friends."

"Imaginary friends," Aviator Alfred added.

"They're real, damn it!"

"Sure." Aviator Alfred snickered. "In this piece, Arthur's baking scones. Those scones come alive."

"Actually, I think that happened a couple of days ago," French Revolution Francis piped up from where he had been changing the slides. "There was a live scone in my laundry."

Pause. "I think you found Sconey," Aviator Alfred remarked. "Congratulations."

"Sconey?" echoed French Revolution Francis. The students sniggered.

"Wizard Arthur's lost companion. It's a scone with legs. He's been posting up lost scone posters all over the Staff Section; didn't you notice?"

French Revolution Francis groaned. "Mon _dieu_. I am going to find that incompetent wizard and –"

"Introduce him to the guillotine? You're nice," sniffed Policeman Arthur. "Does anyone have anything to say about this piece?"

* * *

><p>Andy, Sara, Franklin, and Taylor looked at each other uneasily from the hall outside the Foscarini Library.<p>

"Think we can get him out of there?" Franklin hissed, nodding to the door. "He's been in there since the search parties went out. Inconsolable."

"It's sweet of him to be so concerned for Mr. Hugh, though," Franklin pointed out.

"Still, he needs to get a life," Sara muttered. "Especially one that's not connected to Mr. Hugh in some way, shape, or form."

"Obsession's unhealthy," agreed Andy. Sara snorted. "What?"

"You have an unhealthy obsession with the Hawthorne kid." She grinned, shrugged, and opened the door.

Charlie was pacing the interior, his usually grinning face contorted into a scowl. He barely acknowledged the others as they entered the room. Franklin coughed, shifting from one foot to the other.

"Have they discovered anything?" Charlie demanded suddenly. The others looked at each other.

"No," Taylor said after a moment. "Charlie, it's past midnight. You should sleep."

Charlie grimaced. "I've been up these past few days," he muttered as Franklin walked to the window and looked out, watching the moonlight ripple in the Canale Santa Margherita.

"Get some sleep. You'll need it." Sara's voice was unnaturally gentle. "They'll find him soon."

The five paused to listen to the crackle of the wood in the fireplace. Form far away, several fangirls were screaming about Elisabeta. The rumble of feet echoed through the palazzo.

Moments later, Elisabeta's yelling (something that sounded eerily like Attila the Hun's worst battle cry) drowned out all other sounds.

"HOW_ DARE _THOSE LITTLE BRATS! I'LL SHOW THEM! LEMME AT THEM, RODERICH! LEMME AT THEM, I SWEAR!"

Andy snickered. The ghost of a smile flitted across Charlie's lips.

"What'd they do now?" the curly-haired ginger took a seat at a table, leaning against the seat.

"Stole her porn, probably," Taylor remarked. Franklin rolled his eyes.

"I highly doubt Elisabeta managed to procure porn in 17th century Venice," he muttered.

"This is _Elisabeta Héderváry_. She's the MacGuyver of procuring porn," Andy pointed out. "She could probably find porn on Mount Everest in a sixteenth-century snowstorm."

Pause. "Shit." Sara started moving towards the door as Elisabeta's yelling faded away. But before the Canada fangirl could leave the library, the door banged open and in rushed several students.

"Which one of you did something to Elisabeta to put her in such a rage?" Taylor demanded.

"Did what?" one of the students echoed.

"You didn't hear Elisabeta?"

"We haven't done anything! We've been searching." The student held up a lantern, panting.

"Hawthorne! Lila! There you are!" Andy moved into the firelight, shaking his head. "I hope –"

"Blah, blah, blah, brother. Nothing happened." Lila crossed her arms. "We've got information."

Charlie sat bolt upright.

* * *

><p>"Put a banana in your ear!" snickered Cuddles. They had moved onto one of Yuki-rin Oxenstierna's stories.<p>

"I'm pretty sure there's a rule against songfics in the FFN terms of service," Dorothy Brown mused.

"Of all songs," muttered Agent Anora Jensai.

"There's no plot," complained Jillian the Pikachu.

"Arthur is a bit out-of-character," Aviator Alfred mused. "He's… what was Kiku's term for it? Deer?"

"Tsundere," Francesca Elric suggested.

"Read the fic. It's _deredere_," Stephanie Marie corrected.

"Yes, Arthur is a bit too deredere in the beginning. We don't know why he's so eager for me to propose to him. His overreaction in the end might be a bit in-character, but the unsteady characterisation in the beginning makes it seem too unnatural."

"That's unusually eloquent for you, hotshot," snickered Policeman Arthur.

"Why thank you, bobby," retorted Aviator Alfred.

Gillyflower Caulfray raised a plush teddy bear arm. "Why would Belarus sing 'Put a Banana in Your Ear'? She seems too doom-and-gloom for bananas."

"Why is Ireland in there, my friend?" Nessie the stick figure wondered.

"Because the author created an Ireland Original Character and wants her to tag along," Francesca Elric replied.

"I think I meant for that to be a rhetorical question, my friend."

"How was I supposed to know?"

"Moving on!" Policeman Arthur nudged French Revolution Francis. The _sans-culotte_ changed the slide. "This next piece is untitled, but it is set in ancient history and details the fall of Carthage."

The students started to read. "It seems well-researched," Dorothy Brown conceded.

"The original character Carthage seems a little flat until the very end, but she does act according to historical events," Fayane Tyme mumbled. "I'd like to see more about her, personally."

"Yes, there's lots of room for more character development. The first part is just backstory, and that slows the pace a bit," Dorothy agreed. "It's good, though."

"Grammar's not a problem," Ilsa Heine added.

"Can people other than members of the Nerd Group contribute?" Aviator Alfred called.

C. Jeannete Hernandez raised her hand. "I like the names," she said bluntly.

"_Thank you_, Miss Hernandez. Anyone else?"

Zanie Ellison Renelle coughed. "I agree with the character thing. Carthage sounds interesting and not Mary Sueish, but I want to see a bit more development."

"But aren't underdeveloped characters Mary Sues?" Ruth asked.

"No," Agent Anora Jensai snapped. "Not all underdeveloped characters are Mary Sues. A Mary Sue is a pet character designed for vicarious living. An underdeveloped character may not be an author's vehicle for wish-fulfilment."

"Well said," Policeman Arthur agreed. "Any last suggestions or critiques?"

The Nerds bowled each other over in their haste to critique the piece.

* * *

><p>"They're at the Palazzo Foscarini. We investigated a lead from Stanley South," Susanna Black-White reported.<p>

Charlie, Taylor, and Franklin looked at each other and then at the eight students.

"And you found them?" Charlie asked.

"No, we found information on them. There were guards all over the Palazzo. Two of them were accompanying this woman," Violet Rein continued, with Elise Rayn and Susanna Black-White bobbing their heads in agreement. Peter and Lila took the loveseat, holding hands and leaning against each other. Kira mimed vomiting. Ursula rolled her eyes.

Allison Frazier put her head in her arms, yawning. "The woman was talking about how one of the prisoners was refusing to cooperate," she mumbled.

"It was Mr. Hugh. She mentioned the name 'Fraser'," Elise pointed out.

"Really? I was too tired to notice." Allison yawned widely.

"Miss Frazier, go to bed," Franklin said immediately. Allison cheerily complied.

"Do you know where they are?" Charlie asked.

Peter raised his hand. "They said something about the pozzi."

"Shit!" Franklin's eyes went wide. "Those are the worst!"

"The worst?" Charlie blanched. "What are the pozzi?"

"They're ground-level prisons in the Palazzo Ducale. They make London during the Black Death look like a safe and happy environment," Franklin's expression was grave.

"Shit," agreed Charlie. "How are we going to get Mr. Hugh and Mr. Allen out of there?"

"We need to infiltrate the Palazzo." Heads turned to Taylor. "What? It'd be like we're in a spy film and stuff! We have to get someone into the Palazzo to make an escape plan for Mr. Allen and Mr. Hugh and then we can get them out –"

"But who? How do they even get in?"

"We might have an answer to that." Satow and Kane were standing in the doorway to the library, their expressions grim.

* * *

><p><strong>Notes:<strong> Brownie points to the person who can correctly guess all of the Mary Sues mentioned at the beginning.


	21. A Great Heavenly Snowball Fight

**Notes:** I was curious – what are your opinions on possible Crowning Moments of Awesome (or Heartwarming, or Funny, or Fail)? TELL ME.

* * *

><p><strong>Part XXI<strong>

November died; December replaced it.

The holiday spirit was starting to bloom along the frosty hallways of IAHF, right alongside the holly and the poinsettias. One morning, everyone woke up to see that a new blanket of snow had fallen over the old, powdering the school into a winter wonderland.

The Alfred team won the Hockey Championships. Nobody fell through thin ice this year. Zariana-Sylvia Middleford went on a quest for the hidden swimming pool. She hadn't returned since then.

Throughout the school, though, staff and students alike were preparing for the holiday season. Christmas, Hanukkah, and Kwanza decorations all went up, although most people used secular Christmas décor. Lucas took the opportunity to string up angels and mangers in the Angels' customary meeting room. No one bothered to take them down.

However, one of the holiday cheer seemed to be evident on Jennifer's face as she sat in the corner one evening in early December, watching Kriss and Merka decorate their Christmas tree with British flags. After a moment, Merka handed Kriss her flags and headed over to Jennifer.

"What's wrong?" she demanded bluntly, placing her hands on her hips. Jennifer looked up at her.

"Nothing."

"As if. You've been like this since Thanksgiving."

"Nothing's wrong."

"Shut up!" Merka exclaimed. "We all know something's wrong. Now spill. Did Mighty Major J harm – oh, wait, he's in Venice. Did Sean Tanaka…?"

Jennifer snorted. "Too old for him. In a couple of weeks I'm turning eighteen."

"Okay, then, what's wrong? Seriously."

"Work."

"Work… Work_bitch_? Or just work? I mean if it's just work I suppose I could –"

Jennifer leaned against the wall more heavily. Merka sighed and sat down, facing the other Anglophile.

"You won't get any happier, you know, if you just stew like this. Let it all out. Or else you'll die from too many emotions."

Jennifer snorted. "Never heard that one."

"Okay, so you won't really die. But it'll still hurt! And it's unhealthy."

"I'm just hung up about my decisions." Jennifer shrugged.

Merka hugged her. "I'm sorry about that."

Outside the window, the snow fell harder and harder.

* * *

><p>A silent, deadly shadow slipped through the halls of the Palazzo Ducale. It passed by a records room, where a tired secretary was recording a new entry by the Council of Ten into the criminal register.<p>

_Tomorrow morning before daybreak, Antonio Foscarini is to be strangled by the executioner in the prison where he is now detained, so that he dies. After he is dead, he is to be hung by the foot by the same executioner on a high gallows between the two columns in Piazza San Marco and left there all day._

The shadow slipped upstairs, towards the piombi. It was mid-April; the climate up in the piombi was bearable – for the moment. Antonio Foscarini was asleep in his bed, dreaming troubled dreams.

They must have condemned him. They had interrogated him for hours, for days. There was something about the Spanish in their accusations. Foscarini had no idea why, or how. He had defended himself on the thirteenth. They must have condemned him tonight.

The shadow slipped into Foscarini's cell.

* * *

><p>"Hugh," Mr. Allen hissed.<p>

Mr. Hugh looked over at his counterpart. "Should I?"

"Don't."

"But… freedom."

"Don't you trust Satow?"

"To be truthful, not really."

"I don't trust him, either, but I trust that Venezia even less. She's trying to get to you."

"I know, but… what if she's right?"

"Why would you even think that a Mary Sue –"

"Well, Satow's story has its holes…"

"She refused to give you evidence that she was right."

"Neither did Satow!"

"You're taking the Mary Sue's side?"

"No! I'm not! I'm just saying that we should be more open-minded about these things!"

"She works for Lilith! Lilith nearly killed us! Nearly destroyed our school! Hugh, if she gets the Chronotransporter, what do you think she's going to do?"

"Go back in time?"

"Exactly!" Mr. Allen's blue eyes were alight with franticness. "She'll go back and resurrect Lilith and change the outcome of the invasion! We'll lose the battle! Everything will be doomed!"

"But if we don't get back to IAHF… who knows what's been going on there since our departure?"

"There won't be an IAHF to go back to if we let her have the Chronotransporter!"

Mr. Hugh leaned against the bars, frowning. Venezia was a Mary Sue. He couldn't trust her. He knew he shouldn't. But there was something that made him want to trust her. Something.

"Don't give in, Hughie," Allen's voice was gentle. "If she has you under Aura of Smooth, don't give in. Be strong."

* * *

><p>Hand-in-hand with smiles on their faces, Peter and Lila set out for a walk after breakfast. Lila yawned as they left the Campo di Santa Margherita, passing by stall keepers and shop owners and other people.<p>

"Is it just me," Peter suddenly muttered, "or are people talking about Foscarini?"

"What happened?" Lila yawned again. "I'm still not awake from last night."

Peter grinned shyly. That had been a tiring night, going from the Dorsoduro district to the Piazza San Marco and back in the night. They had narrowly avoided being mugged by some man in a mask on a bridge leading over the Grand Canal.

"Did you hear?" Elise Rayn ran up to them with Stan barely tailing her. "Did you hear about Foscarini?"

"Non parlo italiano," Peter replied quickly.

"Oh, right," sniffed Elise. "Did you hear, though? Stan just told me!"

"What is it? Do hurry!" snapped Lila.

Looking around her to make sure no one else was listening in, leaning in to ensure that Peter and Lila could hear her, and cupping her hands to their ears, Elise whispered, "They've strangled him!"

"Strangled!" Lila squeaked. Elise glared.

"It's an open secret; everyone's talking about it," Stan pointed out drily. "No need for all this secrecy."

"Yes, but…" Elise shook her head. "Go to the Piazza San Marco. You'll see. It's dreadful!"

Off they ran, feet pounding and hands grasping each other so that they wouldn't lose the other in the early morning crowd. Lila led the way, nearly slipping over the roughly-paved streets in her shoes. Peter nearly lost track of the people he collided with.

When they reached the Piazza San Marco, they stopped short and gaped along with the crowd already assembled at the Piazza. Dangling by one leg from the gallows between the two columns leading into the piazza, his face bruised from being dragged on the ground, was Antonio Foscarini.

Peter took one look at the cadaver's ghastly appearance and fainted.

* * *

><p><em>He's dead! He's dead, you incompetent fools! What are we to do? I wanted to protect him! <em>

"Calm _down_!" Ernest Satow snapped at the Chronotransporter. Takeda Kane took his arm, her eyes grave. Emma was asleep on the nearby couch.

_We have failed our mission!_

"Since when was it _our_ mission?" Satow's eyes narrowed.

"Ernest," Kane warned.

"It's blaming its own incompetence on us!"

"_Ernest_!"

Satow looked at Kane seriously. Kane looked back, her own eyes just as steely.

"Ernest. Calm down." Kane turned to the Chronotransporter. "Perhaps... instead of worrying about what has already happened, we could instead start worrying about how to fix it?"

_The mission was to save Foscarini. Perhaps we can go back and – _

"No!" Satow leapt at the Chronotransporter. Kane snatched it from him before he could push it off the table. "Takeda, give it back -"

"Don't agitate this machine. You know how much power it contains."

_I was _speaking, growled the time machine. _I was thinking that we could go back and save him still_.

"It'll only create yet another alternate timeline," groaned Satow. "Too much trouble. Don't even bother."

"He has a point," Kane agreed, shrugging. "We shouldn't mess with the timelines too much. You know what happens if we accidentally go too far."

"Besides, wasn't the objective supposed to be obtaining Vano's documents instead of saving Foscarini?" Satow crossed his arms and took a seat.

_Saving Foscarini was the reason why we wanted Vano's documents._

"Right, but Foscarini's dead. And Foscarini dying proves something important. It proves the anti-myth of Venice."

_The anti-myth of Venice_, echoed the Chronotransporter. _It makes sense_.

Throughout history, people had viewed the Venetian Republic in two lights – through the myth and the anti-myth of Venice. The myth of Venice was upheld by the city's many achievements in art, architecture, and government – it was the belief that Venetians consciously designed their Serene Republic. On the other hand, the anti-myth of Venice insisted that those achievements were but a façade over a regime built on the repression of dissent.

"See, it's a perfect example of the anti-myth. An innocent man, dead by secret accusation. A miscarriage of justice. There's no doubt that without Foscarini's death, Venice could have turned out differently." Satow watched Kane set the Chronotransporter back on the table. Emma stirred faintly from her slumber.

Kane folded her hands in her lap and smiled faintly.

* * *

><p>Lucas, Cain, and Michael were taking a walk outside just after dinner, their pathway lit by nearby lampposts. Snow was still softly falling, although the Mochis had made their snowplough rounds. Said snowploughs, though, were some resentful students with snow shovels. Mochis were extremely efficient taskmasters, after all.<p>

Thus the paths were slick with ice, but at least the Angels weren't sinking in snow. Lucas had half a mind to complain to higher-ups in heaven; why could Jesus walk on water and they couldn't even walk on snow like Tolkien-verse elves?

Flying didn't count. The Angels continued to walk. Michael and Lucas were still refusing to look at each other. After a while, Cain sighed and broke the frosty silence. (Pun not intended.)

"So, Eros, how are you going to –?"

"Shut up." Michael crossed his arms.

"Really, why must we equate him with a pagan Roman god?" Lucas sniffed.

Cain shook his head. "Cheer up. I'm just wondering what Michael's next move is."

"Why do you care?" scoffed the archangel.

"Still reeling from that badfic from the seminar?"

"You try reading about yourself sticking your wings into someone's –"

"And not just anyone. That insufferably radical –"

"Calm your halo, Luke, there are worse liberals than Jennifer Chang –"

"Oh, now you're defending her?"

"Don't be such a Puritan!"

Cain groaned. "Shut it, both of you! Or do I have to threaten you with a –"

"What's all this heavenly bickering about?" A fourth voice chimed in. The Angels promptly fell silent as Jennifer stepped out from behind a nearby tree, ice-skates in her hand. She raised an eyebrow at them. "Really, if you wanted to criticise me you might as well do it to my face."

The Angels looked at each other. Jennifer tapped a foot.

"They were fighting," Cain said after a moment, shrugging. Lucas and Michael glared at him in a 'thanks a lot' way.

"Fighting about what?"

"About your… er, suitability for…"

"Suitability," Jennifer repeated.

"Well, there's an ideology gap –"

"Chasm, more like," Lucas muttered.

Jennifer raised the other eyebrow. "And that's all that matters? No personality? Attraction? Love?"

"Well, if you can't see eye-to-eye with someone on their beliefs, then why bother falling?"

Jennifer paused. "Makes sense," she conceded. "So what?"

"So you need to stop bewitching my brother!"

"_Finite incantatem_," Jennifer deadpanned. "That should do the trick. If it doesn't, I guess he's not under a spell."

Michael snickered.

"How far have you two gotten, anyway?" Lucas's eyes narrowed.

"Nothing sinful. In fact, we haven't even held hands if you're that concerned." Jennifer rolled her eyes and turned to leave. "And before I forget, Lucas, you really should go see Nurse Florance." Smirking, she strode away attempting to whistle. Somewhere in Heaven, the Angels' boss killed another kitten.

"Why would she say that? I'm not… oh, no, she's not insulting my mental state, is she?" Lucas demanded.

Cain cackled. "I think she's trying to say that having such a large stick up your ass is extremely unhealthy," he said innocently. Michael guffawed; Lucas flushed redder than the Devil himself.

"Oh, I'll get you for that!" the latter snapped, scooping up some snow from a nearby drift and throwing it at Cain.

"So juvenile, Luke! Surely you can do better than that?" Cain taunted, reaching down to make a snowball as well. Michael laughed, backing away from the other two.

But it wasn't long before two sets of snowballs hit him, embroiling him into the so-called "Great Heavenly Snowball Fight of 2011". Or at least that was how Lucas referred to the event later on, even though the event was neither great nor heavenly.

* * *

><p>"Change of plans."<p>

The students and G8 members gathered in the Foscarini library goggled at Satow.

"Change of plans?" echoed Susanna Black-White.

"You and Howard are still presenting your information to the Council. We're just going to come with you."

"And what about rescuing…?" Charlie trailed off, eyes narrowing.

"You can still do that, but we're going to –"

"You're going to?"

"Look. We need to steal those spy reports. If the Chronotransporter gets them, then we can all go back to IAHF." Satow's expression was grave. "It's the only way."

Susanna and Howard the Spy looked at each other. "You know the story?" Howard asked, fiddling with his tunic.

"Yeah. You accuse Vano of perjury, and I'll be the witness."

"All right."

"We'll all meet up at the Palazzo Ducale at sundown," Satow said breezily.


	22. Let the Lies Commence

**Part XXII**

One thing was certain: the Venetians were control freaks.

"Are these the archives?" Satow asked Kane as they tiptoed down the corridor, Satow carrying a torch that they had filched from a knocked-out guard a couple of corridors and staircases away.

"No, that's some sort of wine registry," Kane sighed, squinting at the plaque on the door. "What did the pageboy say?"

They had managed to corner an innocent pageboy on their way down to the basement. Charlie had their story - they were merchants who had been taxed the wrong import duty and needed to make sure that they were supposed to be paying much less than what the government had commanded. Poor pageboy had bought the lie, especially after Satow started innocently sharpening his dagger.

The last time they saw the pageboy, he and Charlie were walking off to the Bridge of Sighs. Satow paused in his walk to listen, to make sure they weren't being followed.

"Exactly how many archives are down here again?" Kane whispered after a moment, hefting the Chronotransporter from hand to hand.

_Not sure_, the time machine replied, _but the Venetians needed to gather information on everything. They wanted to control and measure everything, but they could only grasp a corner of the huge black economy that ran throughout the republic._

"Isn't that the point of a black market, though; you can't control it? I mean, as much as Mr. Allen complained about the black market at IAHF, he never did anything about it."

_There was a black market_? The Chronotransporter looked intrigued. _Do tell_.

"We don't know much about it," Satow muttered. "All we really know is that it dealt out surplus things from the supply plothole. The G8 was partly designed to attempt to control the supplies and by extension the market, but we don't know anything about its effectiveness."

"And how did you find that out, Ernest?" Kane demanded.

"Mr. Allen."

They fell back into silence, only broken when Kane approached yet another door. Satow held the torch up to the plaque.

"I think this is it," Kane said after a moment. "Archives of the Inquisitors of State."

* * *

><p>Howard and Susanna were led into the chamber of the Council of Ten. Susanna took a seat, her knees trembling beneath the elaborate hoop skirt. In Venetian, the audience began.<p>

"Who are you?" one of the council members demanded, eyes narrowed suspiciously. "And what is your business here?"

"I-I-I... my name is... er... How –"

"Zuanne!" Susanna hissed. All eyes turned to her. "Sorry," she muttered.

"Zuanne...?" the council member frowned.

"Zuanne Facini!" Howard blustered, turning red. "I am a former informant of Captain Gerolamo Vano."

"Ah, Zuanetto, you have changed indeed," chuckled the council member. "It suits you well. But who is your companion? She is but a child."

"Cecilia Grancini," Susanna said immediately.

"Related to the _novellista _Alessandro Grancini?" Another council member appraised Susanna over steeped fingers.  
>Susanna looked sharply at Howard, who shrugged. "Er, yeah, I'm his... little sister," she said after a moment, chuckling weakly. The council members looked at each other. Susanna chuckled again, feet scuffing the floor.<p>

"Once again, we demand you state your business."

"I am here to confess that I have been suborned to perjure myself," Howard said quickly.

"Perjury," echoed a third council member, "at the trial of Alvise Querini?"

Susanna looked at Howard, bewildered. Howard bit his lip, crossed his legs, and nodded. Behind her back, Susanna crossed her fingers and prayed for Lucas to forgive her for lying so blatantly.

"Yes, the trial of Alvise... Querini. Vano doctored the evidence and forced me to condemn an innocent man."

"How did he force you?"

"He... uh... told me that he would have me in jail as the next traitor against Venice if I didn't do what he said."

"But you were working for the Spanish at that time."

"Y-yeah!" Howard began to shake slightly. "I... uh... well, look here. I love Venice. She's a beautiful republic. I was Vano's informant because I believed that by providing information, I could help save her from some Spanish plot, right? But... uh... but he soon started accusing innocent people like Alvise Querini and Antonio Foscarini, so... I decided that it was better to let you know, your Graces, that he's a dangerous man. You shouldn't trust his information."

Susanna grinned and gave him a thumbs-up. Howard let out a breath.

The Council looked at each other sceptically.

"So if Vano's information is false, then who else can you say is innocent?" someone asked after a moment.

"Well... um... well, at first the people implicated were really guilty. I think the innocents started with Querini, and... um, the most recent victim is Antonio Foscarini."

All eyes were back on them. Susanna squeaked with fear. Howard shifted from one foot to the other.

"My witness here, Cecilia... has... uh, seen him doctoring information against Foscarini."

* * *

><p>Finals were approaching back at IAHF. Students stuck in Venice still had no idea what was going on. Most of them had heard whispers, rumours – snippets of news about the missing Course Coordinators and everything else. Speculation ran wild about Foscarini's whereabouts, too. Fye Acespaid claimed that he had been kidnapped by the Flying Spaghetti Monster. Elizabeth Katherine DuLay thought he drowned, which was definitely more plausible a theory than kidnap by obscure religious deities. Layla Morris believed he was visiting family. KyAnna thought he was visiting Candy Mountain.<p>

Well, Foscarini could have gone to the big Candy Mountain in the sky, if one was so inclined to believe that…

But back to IAHF. The students back home were looking forward to the approaching Winter Holidays more than the finals, but since they had to get through the finals to get to the break most of them settled for dealing with it. Others wondered why they couldn't travel through time, too.

Yes, it was now an open secret that the majority of the school was time-travelling.

"What are the Christmas plans?" Lucas asked blithely on an evening in the library. Jennifer sat across from him, filling out forms with an air of resignation about her shoulders. Michael sat next to her, reading.

Jennifer looked up. "Holidays," she muttered. Lucas huffed.

"All right, all right. Holidays. I mean, I'm scheduled to teach a couple classes at Karen's OFU."

"OFUA: TLA?" Jennifer sounded more interested now.

"Yeah. Religions."

"You've got it all cleared, right?"

"I'll be graduating around that time anyway." Lucas shrugged.

Jennifer nodded. "Fine. Do see if you can get the stick out of your arse before then."

"I have no such thing –" Lucas stiffened, glaring at Michael, who grinned toothily.

"Chill, Luke." Michael snickered. "Anyway, what are we planning for the holidays?"

"You two should be more worried about finals."

"Finals!" squawked Lucas. "What… why, that's not fair; you lot didn't have finals –"

"We had to go through the mother of all traumatising mazes right when a Mary Sue decided to attack the school. I think we've got an excuse to skip finals." Jennifer smiled, baring her teeth. "I'm not sure what we've got planned, anyway. We're hoping that the time travellers can return by then."

"Right." Michael shifted in his seat, looking over at Lucas. "Where's Cain?"

"Lor – who knows." Lucas shrugged. "You sinners are rubbing off on me."

Jennifer snickered as Michael left the library.

* * *

><p>The Venetians were out to get him. Oh yes, they were.<p>

Don Giulio Cazzari looked up from his letter, hand shaking. He gazed around warily, as if there were spies hidden in the walls.

He had to leave Venice. He had to, with a track record like his. He had been involved in everything anti-Venetian. They knew he had been involved in everything anti-Venetian, and yet! Yet he lived.

Cazzari looked around him, at the richly-furnished room. Why, just the other day those Venetians had been all over him for living so extravagantly. Too big for his boots, they said. Even the emperor doesn't have a room like his, they said.

Cazzari had to go to Rome. Lord Cardinal Borgia would help him. Borgia was the type of person who not only turned a blind eye to extravagance and sin, but also indulged in it. He would be safe with Borgia and his court. In fact, he would blend right in.

And that dratted Vano! Cazzari had insisted, several times over, that the Inquisitors put a stop to Vano. Vano was a dangerous man with far too many ears and far too quick a tongue. Those lies! He had been the spider in the deceitful web that had caught Foscarini. Poor, innocent Foscarini.

In a city of lies and masquerade, this much was true: Giulio Cazzari feared for his life.

And yet he stayed another day. Setting down his pen, Cazzari looked at the clock and decided to pay the Mantuan resident one last visit.

He was expected for breakfast, after all.

* * *

><p>Historically, it was all too soon. Months too soon. Everything happened way too fast for the Chronotransporter's liking.<p>

_They've taken the bait._

"They… what?" Kane looked down at the time machine. It whirred exasperatedly at her.

_The Council has taken the bait. They've called in Vano for questioning._

"Good for Howard!" Satow punched the air. "Now, to find the file…"

They paused and looked at the long rows of bookshelves.

"This might take a while," Kane muttered.

* * *

><p>"You are sure that this is the man who doctored information against Querini, little girl?"<p>

Susanna looked at the masked man sitting calmly across from her.

"I don't know about Querini, your Grace," she said after a moment, "but he definitely doctored information against Foscarini."

The man twitched slightly.

"Foscarini? How so? Describe how you saw."

"A couple of nights ago, I passed this man in an alley. He had his mask on at that time as well. He was talking to another man and a woman whom he referred to as Battista."

"Right, and…?"

"The Battista woman was giving him information about Foscarini, but I can assure you, your Grace, that she is not to be trusted and by association, Vano is not to be trusted." Susanna's face was going pink. "I can assure you, sir! She does not even exist!"

"You mean to say, child, that Captain Vano was talking to an imaginary woman?" The Council members looked amused.

"No! Well… yes! And yet, no. That woman he refers to as Battista is a fraud. A fictional character. In fact, she is the worst type of fictional character!"

A pause. The Council members looked at each other. Howard facepalmed.

"That woman's name is Venezia Rosabella Loredana Vargas, and I created her!"

* * *

><p><strong>Notes:<strong> Sorry, short chapter. Lots of things are set to happen during the next two chapters.

And yes, I do believe I've Jossed a bunch of you who think that Ursula created Venezia. Heh heh. Let's just say that although Susanna might specialise in crossovers, she once wrote about a chick named Venezia and had practically erased her from her mind – until now. After all, she does like Feliciano…

In other words, yes Alvise Querini did exist, yes there was a Zuanne Facini and an Alessandro and Cecilia Grancini. However, Cecilia is Alessandro's wife, and Querini is actually guilty of whatever got him in jail.


	23. Pistols! Treason! Murder!

**Part XXIII**

A shot rang through the air. A body slumped to the ground. Knives flashed.

Lila hid her face in Peter's shoulder.

They had been out walking in the parish of San Cassian, when suddenly they encountered a man walking past on a bridge, followed by masked people. It hadn't been long before those masked men – assassins – struck with pistol, knife, and sword.

"I can't look," Lila mumbled. "What's happening?"

Peter had his eyes shut. "I don't want to know, either." Part of his mind drifted back to the day when he had witnessed another assassination attempt. Was there a link?

Yes, there was. The previous one had been orchestrated by a certain Nicolo Rossi, the Imperial resident in Venice. The man being assassinated today had served him and the Spanish, betraying three governments at the same time. For that, he was killed.

Don Giulio Cazzari slumped to the ground, eyes unseeing, head bleeding. He had been shot through the abdomen, stabbed in the kidneys, and finally killed by a blow to the head that fractured his skull. On the one morning where he tried not to fear for his life, he died. It was inevitable.

* * *

><p>"Little girl, you talk of such nonsense." Gerolamo Vano's voice was quiet. "What do you know about my Battista?"<p>

"What I find odd, Captain Vano," one Council member pitched in, "is that she refers to Battista as a female when he is obviously male in your reports."

"Nothing credible about it, indeed," agreed another Council member.

Howard groaned. Susanna paled.

"C-call her Venezia," she stammered. "B-Battista is a guise this man gave to her so that she can appear in his reports."

"Silence! There are other holes in your tale," the first Council member's eyes narrowed. "Cecilia Grancini was never Alessandro Grancini's sister. She was his wife. We have it all notarised."

Susanna paled even further.

The Council member continued. "And time is a fickle friend, my dear Facini, but surely it cannot make you younger. No, definitely not. We have here a report that you were bribed by Alvise Querini's brother to undermine your position in the trial –"

"We don't give a damn about Querini!" Susanna shouted, and then gasped in horror, clapping both hands to her mouth. The Council of Ten glared at her as a whole.

"Child, we will not have you insubordinating us! For this, the Council of Ten will charge you with insubordination and perjury –"

"But it's the truth!" Susanna pleaded. Silence rang through the hall.

* * *

><p>"Mr. Hugh!" Charlie shoved the pageboy out of the way as he ran to the cell where Mr. Hugh sat. "Mr. Hugh, Mr. Allen, it's me. I'm here to save you!"<p>

Mr. Hugh looked around and groaned. "Not you," he muttered, but deep down he felt nothing but relief.

"Yes, me." Charlie grinned and turned to the pageboy. "Where are the keys?"

"Uh-uh… y-you're not allowed to fuh-fuh-free –"

"_Where are the keys_?" Charlie insisted, his grin fading quickly. The pageboy cowered.

"Oh-oh-over there," stammered the pageboy, raising a shaking finger.

* * *

><p>"But it's the truth," whispered Susanna. In a louder voice, she continued. "Even if Querini is guilty, Foscarini is and remains innocent! Would you like the truth? I'll give you the truth. That man is lying. My partner and I are amongst the travellers that have resided at Foscarini's palace for the past few months –"<p>

"Years, if time travel has anything to say about it," muttered Howard.

"_Months_," insisted Susanna, "and Foscarini has not once given us confidential information about Venice. He has been nothing but a marvellous host sheltering us poor travellers from the cold."

The Council looked at each other with identical 'are we going to further indulge this raving little girl?' looks.

"And when I say that Venezia is not real, I mean it," continued Susanna, her knees trembling. "I wrote her about a year ago. I'd forgotten about her. But now here she is, and her presence shows one thing, one truth about this entire place."

Howard stared at her as if she had grown another head. "Susanna, what –"

"This place is a fraud. This isn't the historic Venice. This isn't how things happened in real time." Susanna looked down at her hands. "You aren't real, none of you. This is an alternate historic timeline, an alternate Venice. That's how Venezia managed to infiltrate it." She turned to Howard. "We need to get out of here."

* * *

><p>Satow and Kane ran down the aisle, looking at the numbers on the shelves. "Which number?" Kane demanded, heaving along the Chronotransporter.<p>

_636_, the time machine replied.

"How are these things ordered?"

"Logically, they would be filed chronologically," Satow raised the torch and ran down an aisle, his other hand ghosting along the shelves. "But if we're unlucky, the Council may have moved the files…"

"No, here it is. File 636," Kane whispered, pointing to a stack of papers on the shelf labelled 636. Satow reached up and grabbed them.

"Are you sure?" he whispered, even as far away the footsteps of palace guards echoed. "We've got to make sure, but…"

"But the guards are coming." Kane nodded. The footsteps were getting closer. Kane heaved the Chronotransporter onto the shelf. "Come on, can you verify these documents?" she asked it.

"We should get them off the paper spike," Satow muttered. Kane pulled the spike out of the papers; Satow opened the Chronotransporter and stuffed the documents into it.

"Are they Vano's reports?" Kane hissed frantically. The footsteps got closer.

_Yes_, the time machine answered. _These are the reports. Objective obtained. Prepare for return journey_.

"Sir, yes, sir!" Satow saluted the machine. "Let's get the hell out of here!"

* * *

><p>"Prisoners! The prisoners are escaping!"<p>

Venezia raced through the halls of the Palazzo Ducale, her blue dress billowing out behind her. She had planned to visit Mr. Hugh in the pozzi again, but when she had arrived the cells were empty. An unconscious pageboy was lying in front of Mr. Hugh's cell. She had revived him; he had screamed in fright and then told her everything he knew.

The prisoners have escaped. The prisoners have escaped. Oh, sweet lady, tell the Doge. Tell the guards. The prisoners have escaped.

Venezia ran into the chamber of the Council of Ten. Already, the alarm had been raised. Soon every hall would be crawling with guards; the boathouse would be infested with guards; there would be no logical route of escape.

Keyword being 'logical', of course.

A scream. Venezia raised her head and saw a little girl in a dress far too big for her. She screamed, too.

"Venezia!"

"Susanna!"

The Council looked at each other. One of the secretaries fainted.

Susanna and Howard took one look at each other, nodded, and tackled Venezia.

* * *

><p>"What's going on?" Ursula demanded as she and Kira caught up with Peter and Lila.<p>

"D-dunno," Peter muttered. "Assassination attempt –"

"Successful assassination." Lila's voice trembled. "Murder."

Kira peered out from behind Ursula. "Sure, but… what's_ that_, desu yo?" She pointed a trembling finger at the end of the alley. Everyone followed her gaze. At the end of Rose Alley there snaked a beam of Bled light. It was heading straight for them.

"Run!" Peter hissed.

The Oddballs fled. Or at least, they tried to. The light was simply faster than them.

Light travelled at a speed of 299, 752, 458 metres per second, after all.

* * *

><p>Bled light engulfed the Palazzo Ducale. The guards thundered towards Satow and Kane, weapons at the ready. Right before they could reach them, however, Satow, Kane, and the Chronotransporter vanished into thin air.<p>

Some of the guards spent years trying to find an explanation for that strange phenomenon.

Meanwhile, other guards were about to corner Mr. Allen, Mr. Hugh, and Charlie. Mr. Allen quickly vanished with the Bled light. The guards advanced.

"Charlie?" Mr. Hugh said after a moment, his voice strained.

Charlie turned. "What?" he asked, but before he could say anything else Mr. Hugh grabbed him and kissed him full on the lips.

"Enjoy that, because I'm never going to do that again." Mr. Hugh wiped his lips on his sleeve as the Bled light wrapped around them, consuming them.

The guards stopped short and stared at each other with befuddlement.

* * *

><p>"What do you mean, the files are missing?" hissed a Council member. Yet another guard handed him a slip of paper.<p>

"The files are missing?" echoed Vano.

"None of your business," snapped another Council member. Bled light slipped under the door, towards Howard, Susanna, and Venezia.

"It is his business. His files are missing." The first Council member handed Vano the slip of paper. "This was found on the spike in place of the documents."

Vano read the message, his face paling under his mask. "_Foscarini's ghost cannot be exorcised_," he muttered. "_He will be avenged. Spinner of lies, beware._" Pause. "_Love, Battista_."

He turned to Venezia, but by now she – his Battista – had disappeared along with Susanna and Howard. Vano betrayed no emotions, but deep inside his heart was running a mile without leaving his chest.

The Council of Ten turned to him.


	24. Home Again, Home Again, Jiggety Jig

**Notes: **Happy Thanksgiving to my American readers! I am thankful for everyone who has taken the time to read this, American or not. Go stuff yourselves with turkey if you live in Alfred's house.

* * *

><p><strong>Part XXIV<strong>

_In September 1622, Gerolamo Vano and Domenico Zanco were executed for treason. In December, Alessandro Grancini was released from prison. His wife Cecilia was nowhere to be found; no doubt she was with Meschita, her lover._

_But more importantly, on 16 January 1623, Antonio Foscarini was posthumously exonerated. According to reports by diplomats at the time, Vano had confessed to falsely implicating Foscarini to a priest._

The Chronotransporter paused. The students watched at it sit smugly on the history teacher's desk.

"What else is there?" Birgit Kurvits wondered aloud.

_Many more. Many other things. But to tell you all would just ruin the mystery, wouldn't it? Most records of what had happened historically are now lost. We have saved what we can._

"But is that all there is to Foscarini's exoneration? Who would have wanted him condemned in the first place?"

The Chronotransporter made a strange, wheezing noise. _Who knows? Other sources have said that he was murdered for political reason aside from misinformation. There were rumours that the Council members who wanted him dead had paid Vano to falsely accuse Foscarini of treason. Still other historians believed that his death had something to do with the Countess of Arundel. He was a sceptic, a libertine, a _giovani_. But above these, he was innocent. _

The room was silent.

_Remember Antonio Foscarini. Remember his martyrdom at the hands of the myth of Venice._

* * *

><p>When the main players left, the rest had no choice but to follow.<p>

"That little twit," hissed Alicia to Francesca and Julietta as they searched for the plothole that would return them to the Mary Sue Factory. "What do you think they're going to say when we tell them that she's run off with those IAHF people?"

"They're going to kill us?" Francesca wondered. Julietta sighed for her Romeo. Alicia groaned.

"Precisely. Do we want to be killed?"

"I would much rather die for love –" Julietta murmured, but Alicia smacked her.

"Get your head out of the clouds! We don't want to be killed by higher-ups, which is pretty damn inevitable now that we've lost Venezia! So, what's the natural course of action, then?"

"We… escape to Pasta Mountain?" Francesca wondered.

"Boo, you whore! No, we are not going anywhere near Pasta Mountain! I doubt Pasta Mountain even exists; how do you like that, dumbass?"

"You don't need to be so _mean_!" sobbed Francesca.

Alicia took a couple of deep breaths. Finally, she hissed, "Look. Going back to the Factory's a bad idea. You know how they are. Ever since Lilith died, they've been… you know."

The others looked at each other confusedly. Alicia groaned again. "You two are fucking useless!" she complained. "Haven't you two noticed the tightened security and stuff? If we say we lost one of our company – and the leader, at that – they'll tie us up and leave us at the mercy of the PPC!"

"PPC? Is that edible?" Obviously Francesca's stomach believed that it was lunchtime. Alicia smacked her again.

"The PPC is evil! They kill Mary Sues like you and me!"

"Noooooo!"

"Thank you! That's the reaction I'm looking for!" Alicia clapped a hand to her forehead. "So if going back to the Factory means being left to the PPC –"

"MAMA MIA, I DON'T WANT TO DIE!"

"SHUT THE FUCK UP, FRANCESCA!" Alicia shook Francesca violently enough to cause a concussion. But since Francesca was too dumb to know what a concussion was, it probably wouldn't have mattered in the slightest. "GOING BACK TO THE FACTORY WITHOUT VENEZIA EQUALS PPC. PPC EQUALS BAD. VENEZIA IS AT IAHF. GETTING VENEZIA EQUALS BEING ABLE TO GO BACK TO THE FACTORY WITHOUT BEING SENT TO THE PPC. BEING ABLE TO GO BACK TO THE FACTORY WITHOUT BEING SENT TO THE PPC EQUALS GOOD. WHAT DO YOU THINK THAT MEANS, FUCKASS?"

"That I don't…" Francesca paused, looked at Alicia's stormy face, and hastily amended, "that we should go to IAHF! And save Venezia!"

"Exactly!" Alicia huffed. "I know a plothole that leads to a hideout where we can restock and reoutfit for going to IAHF. It should be around here –"

"No wonder; I was wondering if the plothole leading back to the Factory had moved –"

"Shut it." Alicia reached out to thin air. "I'm trying to find the fucking plothole." She paused, eyes lighting up, and pulled at some invisible cord.

Immediately the ground dropped out from under their feet. "What sort of plothole is this?" demanded Francesca, clinging to Julietta as they fell.

"It'll take us to a hideout," Alicia said innocently.

Up above, whatever hole had caused their descent had suddenly filled up, throwing the three Mary Sues into darkness. With the last few players out of the scene, the alternate timeline reasserted itself.

* * *

><p>At lunchtime, all of the time travelling students (except Sparkles McDesu, of course, since the Chronotransporter hadn't bothered to fish her pieces out of Glod-knows-where to resurrect her. Resurrection required information <em>and<em> a body, after all) reunited.

Not that anyone would miss her, especially not Gilbert.

"What have you guys been up to?" Enrique Escatara demanded as Aloisio Guerra took a seat next to him at the South American table – the testosterone table, as some people had dubbed it. "What was Venice like?"

"Really big and really pretty," mused Aloisio. "Really wet."

"That's what she said," snickered Mighty Major J as he passed by, earning him a slap from Faye Markus. She then dragged him off to their corner. Heathcliffe Sarutobi rolled his eyes.

"He's so crude. I don't see what she sees in him."

"You're not sitting with your girlfriend?" Dex Thomson asked, surprised. Princie Fraser snickered.

"I spent all of Venice with her, didn't I?" Heathcliffe shrugged. "She's with her friends somewhere, anyway."

Indeed, Aki Chung-Feng was sitting with Georgia Callais and the Oddballs. They had spent so much time in Venice that they'd forgotten where they usually sat in the cafeteria. It was a little unsettling.

Peter and Lila had finally settled on the Europe table, dragging Ursula and Kira with them. Kira had brought Georgia and Aki; they were talking about fashion.

"Finals are coming up and we've barely studied for them," groaned Lila. "I mean, we barely had any classes in Venice after all that murdering started…"

"Hai." Peter nodded, looking extremely awkward in his normal clothes. He'd gotten so used to stiff linen ruffles that he'd forgotten the feel of cotton.

"Pete, what did I say about Wapanese? Barely an hour out of Venice, and –"

"Sorry."

Ursula rolled her eyes. "I'll be studying for the finals in the library, then." She got up. "I've got to catch up on everything."

"You nerd." Lila rolled her eyes.

"No, she's more of an elitist, really," Erika Verena von Richtofen-Marlowe noted as she took Ursula's vacated seat. "The Nerd Group examinations will be reopening for students who missed it this semester as well as next semester entrants! I am extremely excited about all of this."

"Isn't Dorothy Brown leaving after this semester? Surely you guys will need a new leader?" Lila asked.

"We're holding elections before the examinations." Erika shrugged. "More democratic than appointments, like with the LEA…" she grimaced, jabbing a thumb in the direction of the Anglophiles. "I heard one of the girls had a fit and shattered their tea service because she didn't get appointed."

"Oh, that's old news." Stan had dropped by. "We've sent in updates to the relationship chart!" he flashed a thumbs-up at Peter, who blushed. "Did you hear that Jennifer and Workbitch broke up?"

"Since when!"

"Since Thanksgiving. Oh, and lots of current event stuff happened. I hear the Staff's not in a good way."

"Those poor souls." Erika sighed. "Especially Alfred. I've heard what's been happening to him."

"Things aren't good for Europe, either." Stan shrugged. "I better get over to Nanise; she looks like she wants something." He walked away with his food.

"What's been going on?" Peter asked Erika.

"Lots of current events." Erika nodded. "You know about the mindless riots in London, right? That should've happened before you lot left. Well, after that there came the protests on Wall Street…"

* * *

><p>"I can't believe you declared pizza a vegetable," Arthur groaned at Alfred as the latter looked blearily up at him from his bed in the Hospital Wing. Almost immediately upon arrival in IAHF Alfred had come down with the grandmother of all colds. Nurse Florance Nightingail had broken a school record for fastest sprint that day.<p>

"I can't believe you Europeans think water can't cure dehydration," Alfred retorted, taking a sip of water.

"Lovino and Feliciano nearly threw a party at your pizza-is-a-vegetable thing. Look at what you've done," Arthur scoffed.

"Glad they like it." Alfred laughed, looking up at the ceiling. "All of these protests…" he cringed. "And the way my police are treating them! It's not right!"

"Your Fox News needs to check up on their facts." Arthur took a seat at Alfred's bedside and took out a copy of the _Bled Chronicles_. "Pepper spray is not food."

"I hope Congress declares mayonnaise an instrument!" Alfred grinned. Arthur smacked him with the newspaper. "Ow! Artie!"

"Did you see the Halloween pictures?" Arthur showed the headlines to Alfred. It was the Halloween edition; Arthur had discovered a whole stack of newspapers at his door when he had returned.

Alfred grabbed the newspaper. "No, lemme see!" He started laughing hysterically. "Batman and Robin!" He clutched his stomach. "Your face is priceless!"

Arthur flushed six different shades of red. "Give me that paper!" He grabbed it from the American and planted his face behind it, still blushing.

"Artie, come on! We all know you were the first to follow me on Twitter. And you do make a good Robin."

"Shut up, hamburger-brains." Arthur's voice was muffled by the paper. "At least I'm not the one with a government passing an internet censorship bill."

"Fuck SOPA." Alfred's smile slipped. "I've got so much going on. I might need some sleep, I guess."

"Go sleep, then." Arthur peered at him from over the top of the newspaper. "We're orienting the new Staff members later today –"

"New Staff members? And I don't get to meet them?" Alfred groaned. "FML!"

"Don't worry. They'll meet you eventually, I'm sure." Arthur lowered the paper, his cheeks still bright red. "I'm just saying that I'm going to have to take my leave."

"No! Don't go just yet!" Alfred seized Arthur's wrist. "You haven't listened to me complain about the police brutality towards the Occupy movement or the internet protests about the Stop Online Piracy Act or the –"

"Look, maybe I should get Ivan in here; he's got a government about to restrict the rights of his LGBT citizens," Arthur snapped, standing up.

"Come on, you bastard, you can't just leave me alone," Alfred pouted.

Arthur groaned. "Fuck you and your pout." He sat down, wrenched his wrist out of Alfred's grasp, and crossed both arms and legs. "I'll stay for a little while longer, then –"

"Delivery for Alfred F. Jones," announced Nurse Mary Seacull. She parted the curtains around Alfred's bed and rolled in a trolley laden with get-well tokens. "From all of your fangirls."

Alfred's eyes lit up. "Wow! No way!"

"We've already checked these for traps." Mary rolled her eyes. "Enjoy."

Alfred reached out for the nearest box of chocolates. Arthur slipped out of the Hospital Wing and met up with Francis and Kiku at the entrance to the Staff Section.

"How's l'Amérique doing?" Francis asked.

"Okay." Arthur shrugged.

"He'll get through it." Kiku smiled bracingly. "I hope."

"Indeed." Arthur folded his newspaper. "Well? What's been going on in the rest of the Staff Section?" Avoiding the traps that had been set up by the Anglophiles and Francis's Femmes (not to mention the Super Kawaii Otaku Kiku Lovers Club, but that was largely considered a joke amongst the other fanclubs on campus), the three of them entered the Staff Section via storage closet.

"That poor Workbitch fellow nearly fainted when Allen and Hugh returned," snickered Francis. "Overworked."

"Poor bloke," agreed Arthur.

Kiku nodded. "It was only natural for Allen-san and Hugh-san to let him take a vacation."

"Non, they _forced_ him to take a vacation." Francis cackled. "Packed his bags, portalled him to That Damn Island, and left him there in a beachside cabin."

"And he didn't take that girl – what's-her-face – Jennifer with him?"

"They'd offered to let her go with him." Kiku looked slightly pensive. "She refused."

"What happened?" Arthur's brows furrowed. "The students were saying something about a breakup."

"They broke up, ouais," Francis affirmed, nodding. "My female counterpart told me."

Arthur nodded slowly. "The holiday should do Workbitch some good, I hope."

"Hopefully," agreed Kiku.

* * *

><p>"You didn't go?" Michael leaned against the doorframe into Jennifer's room. The Asian Anglophile shook her head.<p>

"We're over. I'm over it, really." She blinked away tears, nonetheless, and pressed her face even harder against the icy windowpane. "What's past is past."

"I'm sure he still thinks kindly of you –"

"Oh shut up!" Jennifer banged her forehead against the window. "I don't care about that! He and I, we've had a good run. I was happy for a while there. But he didn't work hard enough to support his end of the relationship. It's not my fault."

"Do you regret what you've done?"

"Not one iota."

"That's good. If you don't regret your time with him…" Michael smiled. "If you still need to talk about it, I'm here."

"Thanks. You're a good friend." Jennifer smiled against the glass.

Michael left. Jennifer watched the winter wonderland outside her window. December was always so beautiful, so white at IAHF. Back home, she had always had green Christmases. Snow where she came from was unthinkable unless in the mountains.

She looked at the camellias that she had picked for herself on the desk. They seemed a bit chilly in the winter air, but the rosy blooms cheered her up nonetheless.

"Red camellias symbolise the flame that burns in my heart for you," she murmured to herself. "Keep these flowers to your heart and think of me. If only we could…"

That had seemed like so long ago, hadn't it? The memories were bittersweet, but Jennifer smiled to herself at them. She wiped away the remaining tears, grabbed a scarf and coat, and headed outside to play in the snow.

* * *

><p>Mr. Allen cornered Satow, Kane, and the Chronotransporter in the guest quarters.<p>

"Are you guys leaving?" he asked abruptly, nearly causing Kane to drop the box that she was holding.

"Those were Hugh's enamel teacups!" she exclaimed, setting the box down and turning around. "Don't startle me like that!"

"Sorry." Mr. Allen shuffled from one foot to the other. "Hugh and I would like to thank you for rescuing us."

"Oh, it was mostly Charlie who did the rescuing," Satow replied, bent over the Chronotransporter.

"Yes, but had the Chronotransporter not worked we would have been killed by guards," Mr. Allen pointed out.

"And the guards would not have been needed had Venezia not raised the alarms." Satow started pressing buttons. "Speaking of which, how is she?"

"Howard and Susanna helped us quarantine her in the Golag," Mr. Allen replied briskly. "Hugh's talking to her again. She's dangerous. She accused the two of you for stealing –"

"Are other Mary Sues coming?" Satow cut Mr. Allen off quickly, pressing the buttons on the suitcase a little more forceful than necessary.

"We're not sure –"

"We're leaving." Satow straightened up and produced a set of files.

"Leaving?" echoed Mr. Allen.

"Yes, leaving." Kane's eyes were sad. "Howard and Mary are taking care of Emma."

"Yes, I understand, and thank you for that – but why are you leaving?"

"It's not safe here for us anymore." Satow smiled. "We're just going to do one last thing, and then we'll be on our way."

"They don't know you're here –"

"Oh, they do." Kane laughed harshly. "Your colleague Antonio told them."

Mr. Allen frowned. "Antonio Carriedo?"

"Indeed." Satow nodded. "And speaking of Antonios, you two did hear about Foscarini, right?"

Mr. Allen nodded, hanging his head. "He was a good man. Kind."

"Shouldn't have died. 'Tis a pity." Satow smiled again. "We best be on our way. Mary Sues could be on us at any minute. We'd hate for you to have to fend them off for us."

"Where are you going, then?"

"First, back in time over here to the library. We've got a translated version of File 636 we need to place on the shelves. Then… who knows where?" Satow laughed. "Quite the adventure, isn't it, my dear?"

Kane nodded, and walked over to kiss Mr. Allen on the cheek. "Tell Hugh we said goodbye and thank you for the teacups," she whispered in his ear.

Mr. Allen's cheeks flushed red. "I'll make sure to…"

But the Bled light had already engulfed the two time travellers.


	25. Wibbly Wobbly, Timey Wimey Shenanigans

**Notes:** Right, so apparently there have been two stories written about my story? I'd say I was flattered, if not for the quality of one of them. The other is the funniest thing ever. It's **FH14**'s parody the _Official Fanfiction University of IAHF_, which sounds like IAHFception because it's like a fanfiction university within a fanfiction university. Go check it out and submit students so that those guys over there can use fanbrat blood to scrape Gellow off the walls.

The other story… well. I hope it's a troll. It's… well. It might be a reason why OFUIAHF was created? Anyhoo. It's **Katy Honda Chan**'s… er. Story.

I'm not mad. I don't really own anything here other than Bled and some of the students. And at least I get more idea fodder! There are a lot of ideas one can use when one gets two alternate timelines to work with…

* * *

><p><strong>Part XXV<strong>

"Dana."

"Delavie, Laisai."

"Ee, Katrina Shareen Liew Lay."

"Escatara, Enrique."

Mr. Allen and Mr. Hugh were naming names. As the students crossed the stage to get their licences, Peter and Lila sat in the audience holding hands. Kira and Ursula were deliberately seated on both sides of the couple so that they did not have to look at each other.

"Guerra, Aloisio."

"Harrison, Midori."

Peter started nodding off. Lila prodded him. Peter jolted awake, but slowly fell back into a stupor as the names continued to be read.

Surprisingly enough, everyone had managed to make it through finals. Perhaps most of the teachers only passed them because they too had been stuck in Venice for the majority of the semester. Others wanted to fail them in new and more creative ways next semester. The rest just never wanted to see their faces again, even if they hadn't seen their faces since mid-September.

To Peter's knowledge, no one in the graduating class had failed their courses, although there had been some complaints about not being able to go through something called "Project Roswell". He wasn't sure if he wanted to know.

"Kirk, Andrew."

Andy shuffled onto the stage, cigarette dangling out of his mouth. Sara Parker and the other G8 members were cheering. Lila rolled her eyes.

"Oh, bully for my brother. Bully indeed," she deadpanned.

Andy stepped up to receive his licence. Mr. Hugh cleared his throat. "We have an announcement to make, while Mr. Kirk is still here on the stage. Today is the grand opening of the Café Foscarini. It is right next to the library –"

"The former Angels' and Nerd Group meeting rooms," Lucas Arch added from his seat next to Karen DuLay. The Head of Student Affairs and Punishment at OFUA: TLA had managed to bribe the staff of her OFU with cookies to get more time off so she could go pick up Lucas.

"Yes, the meeting rooms next to the library have been merged and turned into a coffee shop. If you lot need to find new locations to plot your student uprisings, coups des états, and Occupy IAHF movements, the abandoned meeting rooms in the hallway behind the Italian Corridor should work just as fine."

"OCCUPY IAHF! WE ARE THE 99 PERCENT!" Suzanne Kobzeff cried, waving her clarinet wildly.

"Yes, Miss Kobzeff, thank you for your input," Mr. Allen snapped. "Mr. Kirk here will be the new barista at the Café Foscarini –"

"LURKERS OF THE WORLD, UNITE! THE ONE PERCENT IS TAKING AWAY YOUR RIGHTS TO FANGIRL –"

"_Thank you_. That's enough." Mr. Hugh coughed again. "Moving on. KyAnna…"

On and on the graduation ceremony processed. Lila muttered something about never being able to escape her brother's scrutiny. Peter laughed sheepishly and put an arm around her, thankful that Andy had gone off to sit with Sara and the G8. Kira caught Ursula's eye and mimed puking. Ursula snickered and – to Kira's surprise – nodded.

Maybe two enemies could actually be capable of finding common ground somewhere.

After a long while, the last student's name was called. Peter had fallen asleep halfway through the Qs. Lila nudged him awake now.

"Is it lunch time?" the fanboy muttered groggily.

"We have a couple of additional announcements to make before we let you leave for lunch," Mr. Hugh barked. Peter groaned.

Mr. Allen nodded. "First, our OFU is playing 'home' to an incarcerated Mary Sue. Under no circumstances are any of you allowed to help her escape or provide her aid in any way. We will charge you with treason if you do so."

"It is imperative that you realise this, lest you wish to plunge the school into paranoia once more over a sparkly terrorist."

"Or the school could become a target for yet another Mary Sue invasion. Pick your poison." Mr. Allen shrugged. "Next thing: we would like to formally introduce our new Staff members. Kindly welcome the new Micronation Staff: Molossia, Hutt River, Ladonia, Kugelmugel, and Nikoniko."

The new Micronations waved. Several fangirls swooned. Hutt River made a tsking noise and stuck his nose in the air.

"We'll be teaching the Micronations class with Peter Kirkland and his friends," Ladonia added, crossing his arms. "Don't cross us! I can beat Sweden, you know!"

"Thank you, Ladonia," coughed Mr. Hugh. "Also, let us formally recognise the new Nation Staff members: Cyprus, Romania, India, and Macau."

"India's such a cutie pie; I wish Megan was here so she could fangirl over him," Charlie whispered to Taylor. Taylor grinned evilly.

"And finally, the other new Staff members: Michael Arch as the Archangel Michael, the Parisian couple, Lisa, and Aubert of Avranches. They appeared while we were in Venice, so we didn't get the chance to welcome them." Mr. Allen consulted his notes. "Next. Our newly graduated student Lucas Arch has accepted a teaching post at the Official Fanfiction University of Avatar: The Last Airbender, am I correct?"

"He's teaching a seminar, yeah," Karen called.

"Well. Lucas, we wish you all the best. May you not go insane and smite someone," Mr. Hugh said kindly.

"Actually," cut in Mr. Allen, "smite all the fanbrats you want. You have our blessing."

Lucas nodded in acknowledgement.

"Finally, our colleague and G8 member Loki Shadow Reave is moving on to greyer pastures as the new Course Coordinator of the Homestuck University for Improving Fanfiction." Mr. Hugh smirked. "We wish her all the best as well –"

"Obviously she's had enough of our wibbly-wobbly, timey-wimey shenanigans and would much rather get her mind run over by timeline paradoxes and all other forms of mindfuckery," agreed Mr. Allen. "Her spot on the G8 will be open to any interested applicants. Anyway. That should be all of the announcements –"

"WE ARE THE 99 PERCENT! WE DEMAND OUR RIGHT TO FANGIRL!"

"ENOUGH! LUNCH!"

* * *

><p>"Dorothy, you will be sorely missed," Erika Verena von Richtofen-Marlowe declared at lunch over a platter of fettucine alfredo.<p>

"Keep in touch, then," Dorothy replied, hugging Bianca Bonnie Bishop.

"We will!" Docter Xanax Uvu piped up. She appeared to be hiding from Anya Mae in the fruit bowl.

The Nerd Group converged on their departing members, demanding hugs and contact information. Alice Wang and Brigid Hughes traded emails. Falaba Witch cried on Dasuke Saburo's shoulder as he awkwardly patted her back. It was slightly baffling for everyone else to watch as the usually stoic Nerds all broke down with tears.

A couple of tables away, Lucas Arch and Susanna Black-White were having one last conversation.

"I'm going to miss you so much," Susanna sniffed. She was only eleven, after all.

"I'm glad you finally confessed to your sin of creating a Mary Sue, my child," Lucas replied kindly and rather patronisingly. Some things never changed. "We will see each other in Heaven someday, where there will be no tears, only –"

"Luke!" Cain and Michael had appeared, ironically cutting Lucas off mid-sentence. "Karen's on her way."

"Only eternal life." Lucas grumbled. "Blasted religious censor." He hugged Susanna nonetheless.

"What are you gonna do now that you know your creation exists?" Cain asked the little girl. She shrugged.

"I might revise her? I dunno. Make her less of a Mary Sue?"

"Excellent idea." Lucas waved at Karen Elaine DuLay. "Now, don't forget to say your prayers and thank Go –"

"Lucas! We need to go soon!" Karen shoved her way through to the Angels and Susanna. "Anjilly's going to have my head for the amount of time I've taken off to see you."

"Thought you bribed her."

"Yeah, but the cookies are getting old. We need a creative, new way to convince her to let us return for the holidays!"

"Indulgences?"

"That's not creative and as old as dirt!" Karen scoffed. Cain guffawed.

Jennifer took the opportunity to show up. "Hey," she said, nodding at Lucas. "I'm going to miss telling you to pull that stick out of your arse."

"And I will miss your sinful ways, believe it or not."

The two hugged briefly. "I might invite Megan over for the holidays," Jennifer added thoughtfully as they broke apart. "Perhaps she could take Dirk along, if you're interested –"

"_No, thank you_," Lucas snapped. Karen snickered.

"Whatever floats your ark, broskicola," Jennifer said, shrugging as she turned to leave. "See you around."

Michael nodded at his brother. "Do try to visit over the holidays, Luke. We might need to hear your impersonation of Jonathan Edwards again."

Karen snorted. "How did he manage to impersonate him with all of these religious censors lying around?"

Cain laughed. "That, my dear Karen, is a _long_ story."

* * *

><p>Mr. Allen slumped in his seat. Finally. Winter holidays. And after that, he and Hugh would go pick up Workbitch from That Damn Island. It was about time the poor man took a much-deserved holiday.<p>

Mr. Allen thought ahead to the upcoming semester. Hopefully there wouldn't be any more time-travelling or timeline paradoxes or any of the other things that seemed so routine in other fandoms, like Homestuck. But Hetalia had always been nonlinear and had even less of a general plot than Homestuck. Except for those comic events, Hetalia actually had no plot whatsoever and jumped around history as it pleased.

Whether that was a good thing or not remained to be seen.

But even as Mr. Allen mulled over these thoughts, he heard the beginnings of yet another argument. Strangely, this time it wasn't Ivan versus Alfred. In fact, Ivan and Alfred had been strangely cooperative even in Venice, which could only mean something Very Bad was about to happen.

"Stop making fun of my height! I am perfectly normal-sized! Don't you _dare_ insult the Emperor of France –"

"You _sure_ you're not compensating for something in your portraits?" Jeanne d'Arc's voice sounded overly amused. "And at least I wasn't stupid enough to try and take over –"

"Oh _s'il vous plaît_, the monarchy had issues. I just made it all better!" Napoleon's voice sounded annoyed. "I created the Code Napoleon; how's that against your Siege of Orléans?"

"I drove away the English; your Continental System was such a failure –"

"Upstart military nincompoop!"

"Raving mad peasant girl!"

"One does not simply invade Russia in the winter!"

"One does not hear voices from Angels –"

"You two, shut up!" American Workbitch sounded even more agitated than the two of them put together. Mr. Allen wondered why.

"There must be better things for you three to do than to bicker outside my office door," he called. "What is it?"

The door opened. Jeanne d'Arc stormed in, followed by an equally sour-faced Napoleon and a disgruntled American Workbitch.

"I would think that it would be easy to work with two French military leaders, but apparently not." American Workbitch rubbed his temples. "I curse the Ironic Overpower every day."

"It's not our fault that the Narrative Laws of Comedy insist on making people with similar roles hate each other," Napoleon snapped.

"Ah, the French! It's so hard to cooperate with those cheese-eating surrender monkeys!"

Both French military leaders rounded on American Workbitch at that. "_Excusez-moi_?" Jeanne squawked.

"I swear I did not surrender at Waterloo –"

"Nope, and they didn't poison you with wallpaper –"

"That's only a rumour!" Napoleon bristled.

"Calm down, you three." Mr. Allen sighed and steeped his fingers. "Now tell me what you wanted to say."

"D'accord." Jeanne d'Arc handed Mr. Allen a slip of paper, in a flash of déjà-vu. Mr. Allen arched an eyebrow.

"You have heard of the Mirror Multiverse theory, correct?" American Workbitch asked.

"Well, yes, but it has been fact, not theory, since the confirmed existence of the Enforcers of the Plot Continuum and the Protectors of the Plot Discontinuum – not to mention the existence of the League of Mary Sue Factories and all of the other enemies that the rest of us have to deal with."

"Precisely." American Workbitch sighed. "Well. We have some bad news regarding that." He nodded at the paper.

And as Mr. Allen listened and read, he couldn't help but wonder if all of the wibbly-wobbly, timey-wimey shenanigans were truly over yet.

It certainly seemed as if they weren't.

**END SEMESTER ONE**

* * *

><p><strong>Notes:<strong> Finally, an end to the slightly-too-serious first semester! The second semester should hopefully be more cracktastic. I am so excited about writing the new students!

Don't forget to submit students to the OFUIAHF!


	26. A Man, a Romulan, and a Honey Badger

**Notes: **I do not own R'lyeh, the Romulans, Boris the Honey Badger, Nyan Cat, or Homestuck.

* * *

><p><strong>Bled-Stained Days at the International Academy of Hetalia Fanfiction: Semester Two<strong>

**Part I**

_Dashing through the room with a bomb in the punch bowl! _

_Glitter everywhere; the room is getting cold! _

_My vision's full of spots; there's voices in my head! _

_I twirl and pass out on the floor and then my clothes turn Bled! _

_Oh, Glitter bombs, Glitter bombs, characters beware! Mary Sue got the flu and is sneezing everywhere, oh! _

_Glitter bombs, Glitter bombs, characters beware! Run away, hide today – surrender if you dare!_

Applause filled the coffeehouse. "And that was Midori Harrison and our Alma Mater, 'Glitter Bombs'!" cheered Merka Breigher, swaying on the spot with a bottle of Bleepka in her hand and a microphone in the other. "Let's give it up for Midori!"

Midori Harrison bowed, causing a double bass to strum cheerily.

"Yes indeed, Midori is staying at IAHF as the assistant to Roderich Edelstein, our lovely music teacher. She's not the only new alum in the Staff, though – we also have our lovely barista here, Andy Kirk – thanks, Andy for letting us have Open Mic Thursdays on your turf! Drinks are on me –"

"Drinks are on the supply plothole, Merk." Andy grinned. The Café Foscarini had very good business, especially since the students were free for the holidays. After dinner it usually turned into the Bar Foscarini, but that was besides the point.

Especially since Foscarini himself would have been pleased with the amount of wine and good spirits (and other, more liquid spirits) served with the coffee and tea in the place. It was the new Nerd Group hangout before bar hours, too.

"Indeed!" Merka swayed slightly on the spot. Her girlfriend Kriss Kross lurched out to steady her. "Thanks, sweetie. Let's also welcome back Charley Maytha, leader of the League of Extraordinary Anglophiles and the new Customs paper-slave!"

_I prefer the term 'Secretary-In-Chief'_, groused Charley, raising a shot glass of Bleepka.

"Well, yes. Very nice. Those poor other students. I heard a rumour that KyAnna purposefully glued herself to one of the trees near Lake Eric because she didn't want to go?"

"How does one glue oneself to a tree?" Emerald Glee muttered, frowning.

"Lots and lots of glue," Charlie Tenterden replied offhandedly. "Hey! Don't look at me as if I've done it before."

"Have you, Charlie?" Nick Jenkins wondered.

"Well… yeah… once. When I was a kid. I was bored!"

"Regale us with the tale!" Merka grinned. "But first, lemme finish. The G8 position of 'Russia' is still open to anyone in the graduating class this upcoming semester – gosh, time goes fast, doesn't it?"

"It's all a bunch of timey-wimey shenanigans, to quote Mr. Allen," Melissa N. Rohart drawled.

Merka giggled. "Timey-wimey! Girl, I like the way you think! Now, after Charlie tells us the delightful tale of how he glued himself to a tree, do we have any other things to share? Poetry? Drabbles? Original writing? Songs? Stand up comedy? Oh, come on, people. Don't make me go all John Egbert on you!"

"Merka you are drunk!" sniggered Sara Parker from her spot next to Andy behind the bar.

"I may be drunk now, Sara, but in the morning I'll be sober and you'll still be ugly!" A drumbeat from Midori at her table. "Aw yeah, Winston Churchill. Finest glowworm in British history. But really? No one's got anything to contribute? Come on. Tell us about yourselves! First kiss! I heard the tale of this one bloke who –"

BANG! The door to the Café Foscarini banged open, disrupting the Open Mic Night with Merka Breigher (every other Thursday at seven PM, bring your friends) quite spectacularly. A young man, a Romulan, and a honey badger stood in the doorway.

"Wow, this looks like a joke just begging to be written." Merka snickered. "A man, a Romulan, and a honey badger walk into a bar…"

"Silence! The great R'lyeh will not be mocked by foolish mortals!" the man snapped. If he had a little more muscle and was not dressed like a hipster in art school, he might have been taken a bit more seriously. But then again, who knew what reactions he would have received anyway. At IAHF, cute things were evil, too.

"So… this man thinks he's a Lovecraftian monster?" Kriss giggled.

"Or the personification of Cthulhu's dwelling," Brigid Hughes whispered.

"I said SILENCE!" barked the personification of R'lyeh. "Are you puny mortals too stupid to comprehend my grandeur? I will eat your mothers for breakfast!"

"I don't think your appearance is helping," hissed the Romulan out of the corner of her mouth.

"Well, I can't help it that my human form is an insecure seventeen-year-old boy who took all of the growth hormone! ALL OF THE GROWTH HORMONE –"

"This is better than the joke I was going to make!" cackled Merka, hiccupping slightly. "So, you three must be new!"

"Freshly oriented," the honey badger growled.

"OKAY, WHO PUT ACID IN MY BLEEPKA BECAUSE I COULD HAVE SWORN THE HONEY BADGER JUST STARTED TALKING –"

"Foolish mortal," sniggered R'lyeh. "You have taken the acid. ALL OF THE ACID! There was no acid left!"

"Oh shut it," the honey badger grunted.

"IT'S STILL TALKING TO ME!"

"Calm your tits, Merkity-derkity," Kriss soothed. "The honey badger can talk. So what. Nice to meet you, Mr. Honey Badger!"

"The name's Boris. Sorry if I seem a little out of it – I'm on Viagra PM –"

"Via – oh, someone take over for me. There's too much acid in my alcohol stream."

Charlie grabbed the microphone from Merka. "So, where are the ickle newbies, gorgeous?" he crooned at R'lyeh, who scowled at him.

"Are you flirting with me? With _me_, the great R'lyeh? I am pure evil! Pure –"

"Pure stallion with a dash of hipster in flannel," Charlie sniggered. "Just my type!"

"_Everyone_'s your type, Charlie. Get out," called Andy from the bar good-naturedly.

"You're my type too, Andy! You've got my number, hottie, call me!" Charlie winked. Andy rolled his eyes.

"He has no shame," snickered Sara.

"Not one iota," Andy agreed.

"But really." Charlie's lascivious grin slipped. "Where are the ickle newbies?"

"They're trying to find their way around. To be honest, we're lost," the Romulan piped up.

Charlie laughed. "Excellent! If more of them show up, that'll be just excellent! They can all introduce themselves –"

"We might not be able to fit –" Andy began, but Charlie waved him off.

"Pish-posh! That's what plotholes are for! You think only Pennywise can make rooms bigger?"

"We all _float_ down here," Boris the honey badger mumbled, grinning a very honey badger-y grin.

Even as he said that, the room began to expand until it was roughly the size of a small ballroom. From far away, the sound of new students came wafting down the corridor.

Merka passed out from her Bleepka.

* * *

><p>"How was Open Mic Night?" Peter Hawthorne asked as his girlfriend Lila Kirk entered his room. His roommate, Stanley South, was off snooping on people in the name of justice and journalism (Shinbun-kun had recruited him like he had recruited Kitty and Anita nearly a year ago). However, their other friends Ursula Klevin and Kira PandaStarz were in the room with Peter as well. Ursula and Kira were trying to work on something together while ignoring each other at the same time.<p>

Exactly how they managed to do that was quite the mystery indeed.

"Oh, very eventful. New students. A bit later than usual, according to my brother," Lila replied, shrugging. "Interesting new students."

"How so?" Ursula asked. "Can't be worse than Sparkles McDesu. I hope. Actually, scratch that. Lemme guess, there has been someone worse –"

"There's a chick named Nyan McNyan –"

"Nyan Cat? Yes, scratch that indeed. There are things worse than –"

"At least Nyan doesn't go about bragging about her attempts to rape Gilbert Beilschmidt," Lila pointed out.

"Cool story bro. What else?"

"There are some Homestuck trolls. Shoste Thermo's excited. I think she's going to create some sort of Hetastuck Troll-Nation Alliance or whatnot."

"Uh." The others looked at each other warily. Finally, Kira asked it.

"What's Homestuck, desu yo?"

An evil grin spread on Lila's face. The others looked even more worried. Oh, that grin meant Bad things. Very Bad things.

"Let me tell you about Homestuck…"

* * *

><p>"Loki called. Said the crossover holiday tradition will be honoured in full," Jennifer Chang reported. Course Coordinator Mr. Allen Clarke grinned.<p>

"So the trolls and the kids are coming to the Crossover Holiday Banquet?"

"Yes, sir."

"Good, good. Any others?"

"Scandinavia and the World Nations are returning."

"Excellent. Has Wizard Arthur agreed to create a crossover plothole?"

"Yes, but chances are it may fail –"

"Well, he does have Romania and Norway helping him –"

"Have you seen Sconey?"

Pause. "Sconey?" Mr. Allen echoed.

"Sentient scone. Wizard Arthur's pet. Strange fellow."

"How did he come to be?"

"Not sure. He said it was a long story."

"I'll bet." Mr. Allen rolled his eyes. "We might need to run a background check on that scone. Thank you, Miss Chang."

Jennifer left briskly, her face rather devoid of expression. Mr. Allen vaguely wondered what was wrong with her and then went to find the other Course Coordinator and his partner in evil, Mr. Hugh.

Mr. Hugh Fraser was a single father. His daughter Emma was now approaching eight months or so – hard to tell when she had been time travelling with the rest of them. Emma's mother, Takara, had been a Nurse at the school before her untimely death at the hands of Lilith Wydenbrooke, the knife-obsessed leader of a faction in the League of Mary Sue Factories desperate for a coup d'état.

And speaking of Mary Sues…

Mr. Hugh was in the Golag, visiting Venezia Rosabella Loredana Vargas. The Mary Sue personification of Venice sat on a cot facing away from the Course Coordinator. Mr. Hugh leaned against the bars, his arms crossed.

"I'm innocent," Venezia snapped.

"Sure you are," Mr. Hugh drawled.

"I'm telling you, Satow took it. You've let him escape."

"Satow proved more trustworthy than you. He saved us."

"How can you be sure that he saved you for your benefit, not his?"

"What are you talking about?"

"He could have saved you to lure you into a false sense of security!"

"And you could be telling me this to get me to trust you!"

"Sure." Venezia's voice was dripping with sarcasm. "Sure, I could be. But you know what? It doesn't really matter in the end."

Mr. Hugh frowned. "What?"

"I said it doesn't matter in the end. Antonio Carriedo told us everything."

"But you're in no position to report what he said."

"I had accomplices."

Mr. Hugh paused. "Well." He frowned. "We'll deal with them."

"They'll know that Satow and Kane were last sighted at your school. The Mary Sues value the Chronotransporter. It provides us the key to manipulate timelines in the Mirror Multiverse, and Lilith had been trying to use it to alter timelines in the Prime Multiverse right before she got killed –"

"Wait. Wait. Technobabble. Slow down. What on Glod's green earth are the Mirror and Prime Multiverses?"

Venezia turned to face Mr. Hugh. "That, Mr. Fraser, would take quite a while. You might need to take a seat."

"Allen shouldn't be expecting me for a bit." Mr. Hugh pulled up a chair. "I've got time. Explain."


	27. The Watcher in the Upstairs Bathroom

**Notes: **I do not own Slenderman, Garfield, Cthulhu, or the Honey Badger video. Also, the Multiverse Theory belongs to the PPC and is taken from the PPC Wikia page of the same name.

* * *

><p><strong>Part II<strong>

_There are many theories out there about the Multiverses. First, there was the Mirror Multiverse theory, which had been proven when some mixups occurred at the Headquarters of the Protectors of the Plot Continuum. Mixup, however, is a tame phrase._

_Once upon a time, someone had theorised that there was a universe mirroring that of reality. A series of alternate-alternate timelines, that is. Instead of simply one thing being changed that may or may not affect everything else, the events – nay, the world – in the alternate-alternate timelines were completely flip-flopped. Black became white. Day became night. And grey just got even more… grey._

_This theory was the Mirror Multiverse theory, not to be confused with the still theoretical Multiverse Theory. See, the Mirror Multiverse theory had been proven beyond a shadow of a doubt when five Agents from the Enforcers of the Plot Continuum and four Agents from the Protectors of the Plot Continuum switched places. Consider this. The PPC and the EPC are mirror images of each other. One seeks to do good. The other seeks to do evil. The EPC is an organisation of Suvians led by the Sunflower Emperor who wants multi-Multiverse domination. The Sunflower Official of the PPC, on the other hand, is just a disgruntled sentient Sunflower in a business suit with all the snark of Doc Scratch. Swapping Agents that follow these two starkly different leaders is just asking for trouble._

_And trouble did happen, but that is a thrilling tale for another time. The important part is, the PPC were alerted to the existence of the EPC in the Mirror Multiverse. Therefore, the Mirror Multiverse theory was proven._

_Now. The confusing part. The other important theory to bear in mind here is the Multiverse Theory. _

_But wait! What is a multiverse? Perhaps that ought to be explained before the details of the Multiverse Theory are so mercilessly dumped on these hapless readers. _

_A multiverse consists of a conglomeration of Canon universes surrounded by fanfiction universes. All fictional, historical, and actual universes are connected in some way to not only each other, but to the headquarters of the Protectors of the Plot Continuum. Portal technology utilises those connections. Same goes for crossover plotholes._

_The Prime Multiverse, then, would be reality in whatever sense of the word one chose. The Prime Multiverse is the Multiverse where Harry Potter fights Voldemort, the PPC fights badfic, and IAHF seeks to educate fanbrats about the dangers of badfic. However, in the Mirror Multiverse, all of that is turned on its head. In the Mirror Multiverse, Harry Potter is the Antichrist, the EPC expands Suvian influence over hapless Canon characters, and IAHF brainwashes good writers into writing badfic. The Mirror Multiverse is an alternate universe on steroids._

_But how does one create a multiverse? Perhaps the core value of the original multiverse must be altered. The basic nature must be distorted. The tapestry must be dyed Bled._

_This is where the Multiverse Theory comes in._

_A world has at least three observable spatial dimensions (at least, to beings that can perceive depth – humans with two functioning eyes, for example). It also has one temporal dimension. Theorists at the PPC argue that, though. According to the Multiverse Theory, there are three temporal dimensions: depth-time, height-time, and width-time. Where one goes when one traverses along a temporal dimension that is not depth-time is where the theory branches into two schools of thought._

_The two sub-theories regarding the Mutiverse Theory are the Two Multiverse theory and the Multi Multiverse theory. In the Two Multiverse theory there are only two multiverses – Prime and Mirror. Travel along height and width-time takes one to different universes within the multiverse, but not to different multiverses. However, in the Multi Multiverse theory, travel along height and width-time takes one to different multiverses altogether. Therefore, all alternate universes are alternate multiverses._

_But where does IAHF stand in this?_

_IAHF has, despite being a variation on the Canon already, developed its own variations and alternate universes. If the Multi Multiverse theory holds true, then all of these different alternate universes could be alternate multiverses. If the Multi Multiverse theory holds true and the Chronotransporter has been successful at creating an alternate Venice via time travel, then the Chronotransporter would be an instant multiverse generator that, if placed in the hands of the Mary Sues, would spell disaster for the Canon. Too many alternate multiverses may lead to a total collapse of the Canon._

_IAHF is therefore on the brink of something. What that brink is remains unclear, but being on the brink of _something_ is better than insisting on ignorance in the status quo. It definitely looks better on a debate disadvantage card. But long story short, the wibbly-wobbly, timey-wimey shenanigans have only just begun._

* * *

><p>"I lost you at the first mention of Multiverse."<p>

Venezia facepalmed.

"Hugh, you're dumber than I thought."

"You're spouting abstract bullshit at me. I can't comprehend abstract bullshit. Where's the human element? How does this affect me?"

"I just told you how your precious school fits into the scheme of things."

"No, you didn't."

"Look at it this way. The Hetalia Canon is a chromosome in the genome of the Prime Multiverse. Therefore, IAHF would be a locus on the chromosome, and the various sundry bits of nucleosomes bound by histone proteins in that section of the locus would represent the various alternate dimensions –"

"You are one smart-ass Mary Sue. I suppose SOCS doesn't work on you."

Venezia harrumphed. "I spent my early years developing a mental resistance to Suvian Overheated Cerebrum Syndrome."

Mr. Hugh crossed his arms. "Right. But back to your gene thing. What exactly are you trying to tell me with that genetics analogy?"

"I'm saying that the existence of the alternate universes may be something more serious than what you may expect. Some people say those alternate universes may be even bigger –"

"Okay, and you didn't mention this before because –"

"I did mention it; you got lost. And besides, this has everything to do with Satow and Kane, and I wanted to keep you in suspense."

"You are insufferable."

"Thank you." Venezia calmly folded her hands. "Now. Satow and Kane, too, may not be who you expect they are –"

"They're my historical colleagues –"

"Not these versions."

Mr. Hugh paused, eyes narrowing. "Versions? There are copies?"

"Who knows. There are copies of Canon characters, aren't there? You and Allen are copies of each other, aren't you?"

"Well, yes, but –"

"So wouldn't it make sense?"

"What?"

"Think. Satow succeeded your post in history after the Honourable Power Henry Le Poer Tench. He was at the post right up to the signing of the Anglo-Japanese Alliance, which means that he drafted the majority of that like you did the final negotiations of the Anglo-Japanese Treaty of Navigation and Commerce. He was an ardent Japanophile, but not accorded the honour of being the first Ambassador from Britain to Japan. He married Kane Takeda, whose name is inverted here into Takeda Kane. Kane's eyes are familiar. Therefore –"

Mr. Hugh's eyes widened. "You don't say –"

Mr. Allen took that moment to enter the Golag. "Hughie?" he called. "Time to go. We've got a banquet to arrange and a crossover plothole to create!"

"We are continuing this discussion later," Mr. Hugh growled at Venezia, who shrugged.

"Fine by me, Hughie."

"Don't call me that."

* * *

><p>R'lyeh was not pleased with his sleeping arrangements. Of all the people he had to room with, it had to be an absolutely insufferable douchebag named Jack Ochoa. He was just so insultingly buff and –even worse – had horrid taste in wallets. The nerve!<p>

"So you think you're some sort of Lovecraftian monster?" Jack snickered as he propped his feet up on the desk in their entirely-too-small dorm room. R'lyeh glared daggers at him and cursed Customs for not giving him the ability to shoot lightning from his eyes.

"If you want, I can assume my true form and drive you insane," he growled.

"Oh, I'm _so_ scared," Jack cooed. "Hold me, mama!"

"What the hell are you doing at this school, anyway?" R'lyeh purposefully turned his back on his roommate. "You look like you rely more on brawns than brains –"

"And you look like you've got neither!" guffawed Jack. "And I wrote some steamy Hungary/Spain porn. That's how I got in. Gotta love porn."

"…" R'lyeh crossed his arms. "You are an especially despicable member of an already despicable race. I am so ashamed to be trapped in this despicable body."

"It's so fluffy I'm gonna die!"

"What the hell was that?"

"_Despicable Me_! You were using that word like… a billion times!"

"I do not even know why I am talking to you. Obviously, you have the intellect of a sea slug because I can count on one hand the number of times I used the word 'despicable' in that sentence." Pause. "Actually, I have seen species of sea slugs that have more intelligence than you."

"Oh, _burn_. Ouch." Jack crossed his arms behind his head and leaned back in his chair. "Seen any cute chicks lately?"

"What are you insinuating? We just got here!"

"Cute. Chicks. Girls. Females. Tits and asses."

"You are vulgar."

"And you have a stick up your ass!"

"For your information, I find romance and sentiment absolutely stomach-churning." R'lyeh turned around and crossed his legs and arms rather stubbornly. "No female has ever enticed me –"

"So you're gay?"

"No! The same applies to males, too!"

"So you're asexual?"

"You could say that. I would rather use the term 'too evil for love'."

The door to their room suddenly banged open and in charged Boris the Honey Badger and his roommate Malicious One. Malicious One was a demon cat that looked more like Garfield with white spots. He had a rocket booster strapped to his back. Boris had half a frog in his mouth.

"Oh god, Boris, you're nasty!" Jack squealed, nearly falling over as Boris leapt onto the desk and chewed up the rest of the frog.

"Boris don't care. Boris does whatever he likes," the Honey Badger intoned sarcastically.

"And I thought I was bad," Malicious One snickered.

"You are just Garfield incarnate," Boris sniffed disdainfully. "Any mention of food –"

"FOOD?" the cat's ears perked up.

"Like I said." Boris rolled his eyes. R'lyeh snickered. "He's the biggest asshole cat this side of asshole town."

"You know where Alexis went? She mysteriously disappeared at the… Open Mic Night thing they were having in that coffeeshop."

"What? Riley –"

"The name is R'lyeh, you puny mortal," interrupted R'lyeh.

"Fuck that shit, Riley's easier to pronounce," sniffed Jack. "Anyway, I thought you didn't notice any chicks –"

"Fuckass, Alexis is my girlfriend," Boris snarled.

"Oh, so the honey badger gets a girlfriend and –"

"She's also a Romulan," Malicious One purred. "And I think they put her on the top floor of the girls' dorms, because she's scared of elevators and heights."

"They're evil," whistled Boris.

"I'm evil," corrected R'lyeh.

"Sure you are." Boris cackled. "Did you hear about Annejo Ikm?"

"What sort of name is that?" Jack scoffed.

"Not sure, but it's… well, apparently it put 'gender is a concept for you humans' on its form, but Customs stuck it in the girls' dorm because its name sounded girly. Can you imagine the mayhem?"

R'lyeh snorted. "Is it big and monstrous? Can I use it to subjugate this school and bend its inhabitants to my will?"

"It's got lots of tentacles, if you're into that sort of thing. I think they're moving it to the lake tomorrow."

"Excellent."

* * *

><p>"What did she tell you?" Mr. Allen hissed at Mr. Hugh as they rushed past the Conservatory. Inside, the Nordics were trying to pick a tree for the main hall. All the hassle of time travel had thrown the timeline off track; it was no wonder that the new students had arrived a couple of days late. Christmas was that Sunday, after all.<p>

"Multiverse Theory things. Not sure what she was getting at, but –" He paused, noticing that the other had stopped walking. "What is it?"

"Jeanne, Napoleon, and American Workbitch finally talked," Mr. Allen said quietly. "They're talking about something that has to do with the Mirror Multiverse."

"Merging Multiverses? Replacing Multiverses?"

"How… how did you…?"

"It's what she talked about."

Mr. Allen pulled out the documents from inside his suit jacket. "Take these. Read them."

Mr. Hugh frowned. "I was hoping to spend some time with Emma –"

"Mary and Howard won't mind caring for her one more night."

Mr. Hugh nodded resignedly. "Right." He left for his office.

* * *

><p>Lila, Kira, and Ursula had moved to Lila's room after Peter declared that he was going to go back to the boys' dorms to go sleep. Kagaya Talia Daye, Lila's roommate, had invited several of the newer girl students into her room. Some of them looked extremely nervous and kept on muttering something about tentacles.<p>

"Did you show them tentacle porn or something?" Lila demanded as she took a seat on her bed. Kira waved at Morgan LeFine, the girl who was already stalking the troll students. Shoste Thermo was reportedly torn between filing a restraining order and welcoming the attention.

"Tentacles? Like Feferi's lusus?" Morgan squealed. Alex Maeson cringed at the word 'tentacles'. Alexis Cal, the Romulan girlfriend of Boris the Honey Badger, patted her comfortingly.

"There's a Watcher in the Upstairs Bathroom," she quipped.

"Oh my," Ursula drawled sarcastically. "Terrifying."

"It is! I'll have nightmares about it for weeks!" whined Alex.

"I thought you weren't scared of anything," sniggered Kamila Camila Camille.

"Shut it, KKK."

Kamila cringed. "Call me Milly…" she mumbled.

"I'm pretty sure it's 'KCC'," Alexis mused. Milly groaned.

"Do we have to debate this? I don't like talking about my name…"

"Back to the Watcher," snapped Ursula. "What exactly is it doing up there?"

"It's a student," Milly said bluntly.

"A… oh bugger. Someone decided to be a smartass and put down Cthulhu on their registration form, didn't they?"

"Lovecraftian monster, to be exact. Not really Cthulhu. Scary, though." Alexis shuddered. "But did you hear about Splendorguy?"

"Splendorwhatsit?"

"Splendorguy! He's a Slenderman! He's so fabulous, even if he's damn scary…"

"He's scary and fabulous what?" Lila clutched her head.

"It's like if Slenderman was gay! Or at least metrosexual." Alexis grinned. "So many strange people here! I'm so excited!"

Ursula groaned. "Yeah… excited…"

"Oh man, we gotta show you all over, desu yo!" Kira PandaStarz twirled around excitedly, giggling. "It's so exciting, yo!"

"Indeed. But hey. Don't let R'lyeh catch you." Alexis's grin widened.

"Who's he?" Kira pouted. "Is he after my Sealand-poopsiekins, yo?"

"No, he's just really good at making steak." A beat. "Panda steak."

Ursula started laughing.


	28. Run, Karkat, Run

**Notes:** I don't own Dementors, Bronies, Homestuck, or Hello Cthulhu. Also, go read **Sunshine Soysauce**'s _East Side Otaku_, an IAHF parody of West Side Story! It's hilarious!

* * *

><p><strong>Part III<strong>

It was a beautiful Friday morning. Rebecca Black was not playing. The sun was shining on the glistening white snow. The lake was a frosty mirror that anchored three pirate ships near the dock. The trees were dark soldiers with white fluffy caps of snow on their boughs.

A bird twittered merrily, alighting on the Wasignton, which also bore a snowy cap on its head. The bird sang the song of its people and took flight once more, only to be entangled in the tentacles of some monstrous… thing… dangling out of an upstairs window.

Annejo Ikm had an early breakfast that morning before the G8 came to take her (him? it?) away. She was feeling slightly disgruntled about her appearance, because she looked like a Dementor with tentacles. Obviously Customs had thought that anything that sucked out souls must be a Dementor. Foolish Customs. At least she was able to exist in merely three dimensions, although that would have been a blessing only to the other students. The geometric incompatibility of Lovecraftian monsters with normal spatial dimensions was just as bad as Bled.

The other Lovecraftian monster, R'lyeh, was watching from his window in the boys' dorm as a group of people and some of those infernal sentient rice-blobs – Mochis, weren't they? – headed out of the girls' dorms towards the lake. Jack was still asleep. The Lovecraftian Nation (or city, to be exact) clambered out of bed and got ready for the day.

He was out at the lake in no time. Annejo Ikm was trying to eat its way out through its Mochi prison, but meeting with limited success. Customs had done their job too efficiently – Annejo may have looked like the demon spawn of Cthulhu and a Dementor, but it had no real power outside scaring the shit out of any girl that had tried to use its bathroom. The humans were discussing where to put Annejo, because the lake was obviously frozen. One of them muttered something about a hidden swimming pool. R'lyeh wondered why one would bother to hide a swimming pool as he reached out for the mass of squirming tentacles covered by Mochis.

"Hey!" R'lyeh jumped and turned to see that annoying boy with bright red hair who had tried to hit on him the night before. "I know it's gorgeous, love, but don't touch!"

"Do not call me that," R'lyeh growled. "What are you doing?"

"It's none of your business," remarked the girl with a Canadian sweatshirt.

"The girls filed a complaint against a 'Watcher in the Upstairs Bathroom' for creeping on them as they did their business –"

_Not that there was much to see_, a voice muttered. Well, it was a voice and yet not a voice. It functioned under the same principles as ringing silence; the mind created recognisable sound from chaos.

"What the fuck was that?" the girl who had called him a joke last night was also there, clutching her head. Killer hangovers and strange non-voices did not mix. R'lyeh chuckled darkly.

_Your mother_, Annejo Ikm retorted sarcastically.

"Really? Of all the retorts you could have gone for, you went for the human's mother?" R'lyeh snickered.

_I haven't been able to feed since I got here. They've restricted my ability to feast on souls. Therefore, I am not functioning properly. I assure you, I am so much more amiable when I'm full._

"You ate that bird just fine," the red-haired boy remarked casually.

If Annejo Ikm had eyes, it would roll them. _Well, yes. Thanks to you lot all I can eat are small animals that do not belong to this school. A very unsatisfying diet, if I do say so myself –_

"Are all of you Lovecraftians this sarcastic?" hangover girl wondered.

"It's their last line of defence against the immeasurable stupidity of humans of the fanbrat variety, I'll surmise," a third girl deadpanned. She had dark hair, glasses, and an expressionless face.

"Jen, you are just as bad as them." Hangover girl looped an arm around her shoulders. "If you're still hung over Work, dearie, you need to talk to us –"

"It's nothing of that sort! I'm just tired." The girl yawned. "Who remembers the way to the pool?"

The group set off with their tentacled cargo, but R'lyeh pulled the red-haired boy aside. "Oh, I'm glad you finally decided to return my passion for you!" the boy joked.

"Cease and desist with your lewd suggestions," growled R'lyeh. "What is your name, human?"

"Charlie Tenterden, darling. I'll have you know, by the way, that I am a Staff member and that I can put you in a Mochi Concentration Camp quicker than you can say 'fuck me'. But I won't, because I like you and I don't abuse my position."

"Sure," deadpanned the Lovecraftian City. "And I am secretly a… what did you call it? A brony? My irritating pest of a roommate was talking about them last night."

"Oh gosh, you _are_? I love Twilight Sparkle! She's so adorable and –"

"No! I will not hear any more of this nonsense!" R'lyeh resisted the urge to facepalm. "Charlie Tenterden, you must tell me more information about a human that I have noted not too long ago –"

"You're like that really funny meme that makes everything sound ridiculously pompous," cackled Charlie. "Greetings, Jude! Do not make your present situation worse! Take a melancholy tune and improve its melody!"

"What in the name of Howard Phillips Lovecraft are you talking about, you imbecile?"

Charlie giggled. "You're hilarious, kid! I love it. Anyway. You wanted information on someone?"

"Yes. A human."

"Oh, that really narrows things. Let me tell you about humans. They belong to kingdom _Animalia_, phylum _Chordata_, class _Mammalia_, order _Primates_, family _Homie_, genus _Homo_, species _Homo sapiens_, sub-species _Homo sapiens sapiens_ –"

"You are deliberately obfuscating me!"

"It's what you get when you don't tell me who you want the deeds on! And for your information, I'm not the best source of info on people. You want to try Merka Breigher, Sara Parker, Kriss Kross, or Stanley South."

"Stanley who?"

"He's a student. Ask around." Charlie shrugged. "Want my number?"

"Absolutely not. Thank you. Good day." R'lyeh stalked off to find Stanley South.

* * *

><p>Peter Hawthorne was glad for Winter Break, because now he had the opportunity to sleep in. It was a beautiful Friday morning, and he was intent on spending it in his bed.<p>

Unfortunately for him he was not going to be able to fall asleep, because just when he started knocking on the Sandman's door the actual door to his room banged open and in came his friends and several other girls he didn't recognise.

"Peter, wake up!" Lila plopped a kiss on his forehead. "Get up; we're showing these girls around the school today!"

"Do I have to be up for that?" Peter wrapped himself into a blanket burrito. "Can't you girls have a tour without me?"

"You gotta make new friends!" Lila chirped, forcing him into a sitting position. "Meet Milly, Alexis, Alex Maeson, and Morgan. We'll be taking them on a tour –"

"ALEXIS!" Boris the Honey Badger charged into the room, stopping short of tackling Alexis and instead weaving through her ankles like a cat on catnip. "We missed you after the Mic Night yesterday! What brings you in here – in fact, are you guys supposed to be here?"

"The usual double standards," Lila yawned. "Things about the untrustworthiness of boys, and so on and so forth. You can't go into the girls' dorms, but we can invade yours. Not very fair, is it?"

"No, not really." Boris hummed slightly as Alexis petted him. "What are we doing today? I'll have to go pick up R'lyeh –"

"I do not get picked up." R'lyeh stalked into the room. "This room belongs to a human named Stanley South, am I correct?"

"Speak of the devil," Boris snickered.

"Yes," Peter said, jabbing a thumb towards a blanketed lump that looked vaguely Stan-like. "He's over there."

"What do you want from him, yo?" Kira demanded. R'lyeh glared at her. "EEP! I DON'T TASTE GOOD, YO! DON'T TURN ME INTO STEAK, YO!" Ursula cackled again. "Ursula, you're so mean, yo!"

"It's hilarious," sniggered Ursula. She walked over to R'lyeh and extended her hand. "I am Ursula Klevin. You are my new best friend."

R'lyeh stared at her hand as if she had six fingers. "Nice to meet you, human?" he asked after a moment, quirking an eyebrow.

"You're supposed to shake my hand," Ursula hissed.

"Oh." R'lyeh did so. "Right. Well. This lazy excuse for a human is not awake yet. I will return shortly, then."

"No, come with us! We're touring the campus! It'll be lots of fun!" Boris grinned. "He'll be awake by the time we come back, I'm sure."

"No, I have a school to take over –"

"You always have something you need to take over. Come on. You know you want to. Besides, why do you need to talk to that guy so badly?"

"He has information."

"And what are the rest of us, blank books?"

"I – oh, forget it, Boris. I'll get the information from him at mealtime." R'lyeh crossed his arms.

Peter sighed. "Right, then. I'd like some privacy now. Dressing."

They were trampling through the snow moments later, towards the main building. "So, this is the cafeteria," Lila said as they passed a set of double doors at the end of one hall. "The hallway we passed right before this is called the Italian Corridor because the Italian and Latin classes are there. Latin class is taught by a brick wall –"

"Excuse me, a _what_?" Boris demanded.

"A brick wall. Sentient. Named the Rome-Wall," yawned Peter. "Falls on girls a lot, according to Roger West."

"Cheerful," remarked Alexis. "And I assume Feliciano teaches Italian?"

"I think he teams up with Lovino," Peter said, frowning.

They walked past the cafeteria. "Bulletin board, with the menu. Changes day by day, and covers pretty much all the cuisines that come from Nations in Hetalia," Ursula drawled. "Watch out for Finnish and English food."

"English food isn't that terrible," protested R'lyeh.

"Yes, and you're evil," Boris snickered. R'lyeh aimed a kick at him.

"Hey! No animal cruelty, desu yo!" Kira quickly hid behind Ursula, who was struggling to hold in her laughter.

"What's for breakfast?" Alex asked.

"Danish cuisine," Milly replied, pointing to the menu. "Wienerbrød, salami, jam, cheese… what the heck is 'weiner brod'?"

"That's a Danish," another voice cut in. Michael Arch, resident Archangel of IAHF, walked past. "Good morning, all of you."

"That's Michael Arch. He's the only student in the Staff, because he was the Archangel Michael in that one strip about Mont St. Michel," Lila explained, waving.

"Nice to meet you," Michael said pleasantly, causing Milly to blush and Alex to snigger.

"Michael, Stan's been meaning to ask you something," Peter noted offhandedly. "Something about your relationship with… with… what's-her-face…"

"Jennifer?" Michael quipped. Peter nodded. "Oh. Well."

"Is that a yes or a no?"

"What was the question?"

"I'm not really sure myself. It's Stan's problem."

The Archangel shrugged. "Well, if that's the case, I'll talk to Stan. Thank you for notifying me." He strolled off.

"What exactly is going on around here?" R'lyeh demanded as they continued their walk. The Oddballs ignored him, pointing out the classrooms, conveniently unused classrooms, and meeting rooms that they knew.

"You'll recognise the Café Foscarini," Lila said, waving in the direction of the doors leading into the coffeeshop. A sign outside proclaimed that the Bleeptea Latté was the special drink of the day. "My brother's the barista."

"Cheerful," Alexis giggled. "Will he give us a discount?"

"I dunno. He only takes stuff like cigarettes and alcohol for payment. Occasionally good books and movies, if we can get them –"

"Where the hell do you find that?" Milly demanded.

Ursula rolled her eyes. "Everywhere. You just need to know where to look."

"There's a supply plothole, desu yo," Kira explained.

Ursula nodded. "Most stuff taken from it goes right to the Staff and redistributed amongst the students as necessary. But occasionally some students get surplus goods. So there's this black market thing going on."

"You get cool stuff from the black market. Stuff like popcorn, chocolate, and teddy bears."

"I heard Gloria Barber got an angel blow up doll from it."

"She just arrived yesterday!"

"She must have known someone. Insider, you know."

Alexis frowned. "Who the hell is Gloria Barber?"

The Oddballs looked at each other. Kira started to say something, but Milly beat her to the punch.

"She's this creepy old lady who rooms with Veronica Wiles. You know, the Purple Flying Mary Sue Eater? Veronica was in my room at two in the morning saying that she didn't want to room with Gloria because Gloria kept on masturbating in bed –"

"Oh god, too much information," groaned Ursula.

"What? She makes Hungary look tame!"

Peter whistled. "That… wow." Someone who made Elisabeta look tame when it came to enthusiasm for porn must be the dirtiest pervert this side of the Internet. And that was saying something.

"Yeah. She also has this thing for Angels –"

"Poor Michael," Lila sighed. "And Cain, and Kiryll, and…"

"There's a new Angel student. Amitiel Arch, Angel of Truth. It's ridiculously hard to lie with him around; Stan says it's so damn annoying," Peter said suddenly. "He was talking about him when he came in past midnight."

"Oh yeah, he must have been the one arguing with Lucifer Morningstar at the Mic Night," Lila muttered.

"What sort of circus is this?" R'lyeh demanded. "Angels and demons and Purple Flying Mary Sue Eaters…"

"And you. You're one to talk, personifying Cthulhu's city," Ursula pointed out.

"Anyway!" Lila coughed loudly. "We've been standing outside the Café for ages and I wanted us to go into the library!" She stomped up to the double doors leading into the library and pushed them open. "Behold!"

The library was easily the most impressive room in the student section of IAHF. It was three storeys high with wrought-iron staircases and over two million books. Comfortable leather couches and hardwood floors and tables completed the old-world look. A fireplace sat directly across from the entryway. The fire in it was dead, but light poured in from the ridiculously tall glass windows on both sides.

Jennifer Chang was at her usual table, consulting several files as she wrote away at a notepad. She looked up and smiled quickly – R'lyeh noticed that it was the sarcastic girl from before – and lowered her head once more.

"That's Jennifer Chang. She was a student last year," Lila whispered. "She's on this board called the G8, and she's almost always in the library these days."

"Yeah, Stan said she used to go out with the Course Coordinators' secretary but then they broke up. I don't know; I wasn't here and neither was Stan."

"How would he know, then? And where were you?" Alexis whispered.

"Stan just knows everything. I think the guys who run the school newspaper tell him everything. And we were in Venice at the time –"

"You guys go on field trips?"

"I don't think that was a planned field trip. It's a long story." Peter shrugged and blushed slightly.

"She looks really sad," Alexis noted, tilting her head to the side. "Maybe she loved him and he broke her heart."

"_Awww_, that is so _sad_," deadpanned R'lyeh.

"Shut up," Alexis cuffed him lightly. "I'm definitely going to pay the library a visit later. Can we move on?"

They went on, but as R'lyeh left the library he turned to take another look at Jennifer. She looked up again; their eyes met for a fraction of a second before she looked away, ostensibly at a clock nearby.

He shrugged the uneasy feeling off and caught up with the others. Lila was showing them the Hospital Wing and the three decoy doors to the Staff Section. "We're not sure where the real entrance to the Staff Section is, so don't ask us."

"Yeah, we're not responsible for you guys getting into trouble trying to get into the Staff Section," Peter added.

"You really have to be careful around here, because most of the fanclubs spring their booby traps here – see, what did I tell you?" At that moment, Alex Maeson had accidentally triggered a trap door and fell screaming into darkness below. "That was from Francis's Femmes. They've all had Gaston Leroux influences." Ursula snickered.

A sudden crash shook the school. "And that would be Ivan and Alfred. It's weird; they've been rather peaceful since the return from Venice. I guess timelines are screwed over still," Lila guessed, shrugging as they walked away. "There's a hidden swimming pool somewhere upstairs. I heard a mermaid student tried to bring her own pool but they just dumped her in that pool instead since the lake is frozen."

"Wait, there's…" Boris frowned. "A mermaid student?"

"She'll be trapped with Annejo Ikm," cackled R'lyeh. "I find that hilarious."

They walked up a flight of stairs and up and down several corridors. Rooms branched off left, right, and centre. It was almost dizzying; Milly muttered something about being lost. Alex patted her shoulder.

"Wait a moment. I don't think we've been down this corridor before," Peter said suddenly.

Lila paused. "There are portraits down this hallway. Yeah. I don't remember this place, either."

"Oh, so now we're lost?" Milly whined.

"It smells weird," Boris muttered, wrinkling his snout. "Like strawberries."

"Strawberries aren't weird," Alexis pointed out.

Boris shook his head. "No, no. It's like weird strawberries. Dead strawberries, maybe?"

"Ugh!" R'lyeh scrunched up his expression. "What is that foul stench?"

"That would be the smell of a crossover plothole," another voice piped up. Arthur Kirkland stood in front of a Bled-coloured nebula at the end of the hallway. Norway and Romania stood with him. "We're awaiting some guests for the holidays."

A little black scone scuttled out of the shadows (Alexis screamed) and climbed up Wizard Arthur's shoulders. The students watched in morbid fascination as the crossover plothole grew brighter and brighter until suddenly –

Five forms appeared in the hallway. One of them was grey, with horns. The other four looked human. At the same time, the vandalised portrait of Roderich Edelstein swung open and Annejo Ikm came inching out sullenly, with ribbons in its tentacles like Hello Cthulhu. A mermaid – Jennifer Lalonde – was sitting on it gleefully tying pink bows on a tentacle.

Suddenly, the oddly-quiet Morgan LeFine let out a screech of joy as the forms became more recognisable.

"John! Rose! Dave! Jade! KARKAT! Oh, how I've missed you, my darlings!" The rabid Homestuck fangirl barrelled down the corridor, towards the crossover guests.

"OH FUCK," Karkat Vantas growled. "RUN THE FUCK AWAY!"


	29. Attempts to Drop Eaves

**Notes:** SatW or Sister [insert Nation here] refers to the Scandinavia and the World version of that Nation. I don't own SatW. Bleepdrinks belong to the PPC and whoever created each one.

* * *

><p><strong>Part IV<strong>

"So, when are the other trolls coming?

"WHEN ERIDAN GETS HIS HEAD OUT OF HIS FUCKING ASS AND REALISES THAT THE PLOTHOLE FUCKING EXISTS."

"I see." Wizard Arthur grinned. "He's the one who wants to be a wizard, right?"

"YEAH. HE'S ALSO A FUCKING TOOL."

"You know when Terezi and Vriska are coming, right?" John Egbert asked Karkat.

"FUCKASS, WHAT DID I TELL YOU ABOUT –"

"Look, we're just curious," Dave Strider groaned, adjusting his aviator sunglasses.

They had lost Morgan LeFine at the entrance to the Staff Section. Once in the sanctuary of the Staff quarters, Karkat had started cussing about "THOSE FUCKING FANGIRLS" so virulently that even _Lovino_ Vargas told him to "fucking wash [his] fucking mouth with some motherfucking soap". Lovino had not been in much of a good mood since those pictures of him in his Halloween costume became extremely popular amongst the students, leading to the creation of Grandmother Lovino, or 'Grandmano'. Grandmano was currently off shooting with Vash Zwingli. Liechtenstein claimed that they were hunting Mary Sues.

But back to the Homestuck characters. By now news of their arrival had spread like wildfire. Merka Breigher was first to properly greet them; she was squealing with happiness as John shook her hand (no one was sure whether it was because she was excited to meet him or because he had a buzzer in his hand). Mochis were dispatched to chivvy the other trolls safely into the Staff Section.

Fortunately for the Homestucks, Morgan LeFine seemed to be the only really insane Homestuck fangirl on campus. Even Jennifer Lalonde was well behaved when Shoste Thermo and her 'Hussieruya Troll-Nation Alliance' arrived at the entrance to the Staff Section to greet them. Morgan had to be physically restrained by murika and Endland, the infamous USUK Mochi duo with the second-highest fangirl-capture record. She had tried to bring a bucket to the meet-and-greet; Shoste told her to "conceal that disgusting reproductive implement".

The crossovers had been scheduled this time around. By noon, the other eleven trolls were present and accounted for. The Scandinavia and the World Nations would arrive in the afternoon, while the trolls were being introduced. And although they were technically not crossing over, several members of the first graduating class of IAHF were returning in the late afternoon with Lucas Arch, Karen DuLay, Kitty Smith, and Loki Shadow Reave.

"Oh jegus, I'm so excited," Lila squealed as she and Peter headed into the Orientation Hall for the visitor introduction assembly. Ursula, Kira, Alexis, Boris, and Milly followed them. R'lyeh was trying to find Stan South somewhere else in the crowd. Alex Maeson had been rescued by Ukrane and was sitting next to Alex Pierce. Perhaps a resurrection of the Alex Inquisiton was in order?

"Great." Peter sighed, but he squeezed her hand. "I'm still confused at your description of Homestuck. Is all of this happening in a game, or…"

"It's a game that changes reality," Lila replied, her eyes sparkling. "It's really very interesting."

"But how does such technology… oh, forget it." Peter chuckled weakly. "Who's your favourite character?"

They took their seats. A couple of rows away, R'lyeh had finally found Stanley South. The gossip king was talking to Michael Arch about something. R'lyeh tried his best to look as if he wasn't listening in, but he wasn't exactly a master of subtlety when it came to social situations.

After all, if he didn't know what a handshake was…

"So, what exactly is going on?" Stanley was asking the Archangel. R'lyeh didn't like the holiness-and-light feeling he got from Michael. It emanated from him like too much perfume from that fat aunt who always gives people bone-crushing hugs and terrible Christmas presents. Not that R'lyeh ever had a fat aunt.

"Going on? Oh, right, you wanted to know what's going on between me and Jen, right?" Michael frowned. "Why do you want to know? We have a right to our privacy, don't we?"

"It's for the shipping board," Stanley replied.

"A gross infraction of privacy if there ever was one."

"Good source of information."

"We are private citizens."

"But you're also staff members."

"There's a line between snooping and the public's right to know."

"We're continuing Kitty and Anita's honourable tradition aren't we? I mean if I didn't update the chart, people couldn't place bets, and it wouldn't help the economy –"

"What sort of economy do we have?" Michael snorted. "Really, why do you want to know?"

"Because Kriss and Merka want to know."

"I could tell them instead of you, you know. I don't really trust you."

"Fair enough." Stan rolled his eyes. "But really, it boils down to a yes or no question: are you dating Jennifer Chang?"

"No."

R'lyeh let out the breath he didn't know he had been holding.

"Would you want to?"

"That is none of your business."

"Well, it's common knowledge that after she broke up with Workbitch, you've been the closest to her."

"I was doing my Angelic duties."

"Which are?"

"Caring for the distraught, the sick, the needy. Providing good in an era of darkness. Spreading the light of –"

"Okay, okay, so you're just doing your duty to her? That's a bit cold; what if she likes you?"

"She…" Michael trailed off. "Really, this is none of your business."

"Come on, Michael…"

"I see her in the same way that my brother saw Susanna Black-White, if you know who they are."

Stan arched an eyebrow. "I see."

At that moment, Mr. Allen and Mr. Hugh arrived on the stage. Behind their usual screen, the Staff sat with their guests. Mr. Hugh tapped the microphone at the podium gingerly, as if scared that it would explode in his hand. Chances are, it could. Mr. Hugh's relationship with technology was as dangerous as Arthur's relationship with cooking.

"Good, uh, afternoon!" he said cheerily. Lila frowned and whispered something about the Course Coordinator looking rather tired. Mr. Hugh smiled widely, as if trying to defuse that appearance. "We are pleased to announce that once again, this year our school will play host to crossover characters! We will be holding a Holiday Banquet with them as well as offering the usual picture requests. Please submit your picture requests before midnight tomorrow. Everyone at the school is fair game."

"Keep those requests PG-13 rated," snapped Mr. Allen. He, on the other hand, looked as crabby as Mr. Hugh looked tired. "Requests involving nudity, sexual content, or overt violence will be disregarded."

"Select pictures will be published in the _Bled __Chronicles_, and all pictures will be distributed to the requestors on Christmas morning."

Mr. Allen coughed. "The Holiday Banquet will be on Saturday the 24th. If you are religious, celebrate your masses in private, please. I believe the Jewish students are holding an ongoing Hanukkah celebration that culminates on the 28th –"

"Cameroon and I are sponsoring a Kawanzaa celebration on January 1st," Alfred pitched in from behind the screens. "Drop by if you want; there'll be lots of presents!"

"Thank you, Alfred. Moving on. Let's give a warm welcome to our crossover guests. From the webcomic Homestuck, we have John Egbert, Rose Lalonde, Dave Strider, Jade Harley, Karkat Vantas, Aradia Megido, Tavros Nitram, Sollux Captor, Nepeta Leijon, Kanaya Maryam, Terezi Pyrope, Vriska Serket, Equius Zahhak, Gamzee Makara, Eridan Ampora, and Feferi Peixes!"

Granted, Mr. Hugh had tripped over nearly all of the Trolls' names and nearly called Vriska 'Vriska Secret', but everyone applauded nonetheless as the kids and the trolls emerged from behind the screen. Most of them – especially Dave, Gamzee, Karkat, Eridan, and Tavros – had Mochi bodyguards.

"They will be staying here for the rest of the Winter Holidays and a couple of crossover classes –"

"n0t all 0f us are staying," Aradia Megido interrupted, causing several people (who probably had never heard of Homestuck) to wonder how she was able to pronounce zeros like that.

"Who's staying and who's going, then?" Mr. Allen asked. "I don't think Loki really clarified it."

"We kids shall remain," Rose Lalonde said loftily. "Most of the trolls are returning."

There was a chorus of disappointment amongst the Homestuck-liking students. "NO, GAMZEE, DON'T GO!" Morgan howled. Next to her, Matera Playte groaned and facepalmed. Gamzee Makara looked like a deer – or maybe a goat? – caught in the headlights of an American monster truck.

"Eridan, you need to stay! Wwe lovve you here!" Merka called from her seat. Eridan Ampora, who looked a lot like an amphibious Harry Potter with a scarf, looked like he was trying to pretend that he wasn't flattered. Even R'lyeh thought he failed spectacularly.

"Right, well, for the time being…" Mr. Hugh stifled a yawn. "Welcome to the International Academy of Hetalia Fanfiction!"

"It's good to be back!" a completely different voice chirped from the doorway. There stood Scandinavia and the World Denmark, closely tailed by SatW Sweden and SatW Norway. "Break out the booze; the party doesn't start until I walk in and I have just walked in!"

"You're terrible," groaned SatW Sweden as the three made their way down the aisle to the stage. "Considering you just killed Norway's moose –"

"Albin!" sobbed SatW Norway, who was clutching a giant sack of fish like a girl would clutch a package of Ben and Jerry's Breakup Brew post-breakup.

"You've broken him. Congratulations," finished SatW Sweden.

"What's going on?" whispered Peter to Lila. A couple of seats away, Brently Loserdoodle was squealing as if all of her dreams had come true.

"NORWAY, MY CUTIE FISH CAKE! YOU ARE SO ADORABLE, TROLOLOLOLO –" Brently dived out of her seat towards the flabbergasted (and still slightly depressed) Norwegian, only to be intercepted by Norfe. "NOOOOOO! NORWAY, I LOVE YOU FOREVER AND EVER AND EVER…" the fangirl cried as she was dragged away by a completely different Norway's Mochi.

"Really?" SatW Denmark demanded. "No fangirls for me?"

"WHY THE FUCK WOULD YOU WANT A FANGIRL?" Karkat demanded.

SatW Denmark's eyes went wide. "You guys, that crazy grey demon is talking to me."

A hush fell over the room. Karkat had flushed bright red. "WHAT THE FUCK DID YOU CALL ME?" he blustered.

"He didn't call you anything!" SatW Sweden chuckled weakly, putting himself between the troll and SatW Denmark.

"SURE HE DIDN'T. I HEARD IT. HE CALLED ME A CRAZY GREY DEMON!"

"C4LM DOWN K4RK4T," Terezi Pyrope snapped. "W3R3 NOT H3R3 TO M4K3 4 SC3N3."

"ShOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOsH," agreed Gamzee Makara, leaning over and patting Karkat soothingly on the shoulder. "PaP."

"FUCKING HELL, GAMZEE, THIS IS NOT THE TIME –"

"What the hell is going on?" SatW Denmark wondered, tilting his head as Gamzee continued to pat Karkat.

"Shooshpap," Lila snickered. "I love how Gamzee's the one who's doing it to Karkat."

"Denmark, we better get out of here," SatW Sweden advised. "We'll be back later!" he called to Mr. Allen and Mr. Hugh, who waved them away.

"Those were Nations from Scandinavia and the World," Mr. Hugh explained. "The one who enraged Karkat is Denmark, the one with the glasses is Sweden, and the one with the fish is Norway."

No sooner had the three Scandinavians left did a dark-haired man with a monocle peek into the room. "What just happened? Our Sweden was yelling at our Denmark for enraging someone in here," he asked in a British accent.

At that, Arthur Kirkland came running out from behind the partition. "SatW England!" he called, waving frantically. SatW England ran down the aisle; the two Englands hugged. "By Jove, it's good to see you again!"

"I have missed you tremendously, old chap!" laughed SatW England. "Have you put the binoculars I gave you to good use?"

A shadow passed over Arthur's face. "Someone took them. I don't know where they've gone."

Peter sent a quizzical look at Lila, who shrugged. Allison Frazier leaned over from the chair behind Peter and whispered, "I heard rumours that Peter Kirkland stole a set of binoculars that belonged to Arthur."

"Actually, I heard from Cristiana Moretti that Lovino had them," Nick Jenkins pitched in from next to Allison.

"Who knows? Arthur was really pissed when they went missing."

Mr. Allen coughed. "This is England from Scandinavia and the World," he introduced.

"How do you do," SatW England offered. Arthur chuckled and helped his fellow Englishman onto the stage. They walked off to the screened-off portion of the stage once more.

"I heard rumours that they were together for some time!" Stan whispered to Michael, grinning. Michael wrinkled his nose. R'lyeh wasn't sure what to make of the strange school with its strange guests.

"Were they ever?" the Archangel asked stiffly.

Stan shrugged. "They seem to be good friends."

Michael nodded.

Mr. Hugh seemed about to say something else when the doors to the Orientation Hall banged open again and in ran a buff, tanned man with bleached hair and the American flag on his shirt.

"Oh, what is it now, SatW America?" Mr. Allen demanded.

"PIRATES! NINJAS!"

"You sure they're not Somalia and Saudi Arabia from your world?" Mr. Hugh groaned.

"No, they're definitely yours!" And with that, SatW America ducked as the infamous Bled Pinjas swooped into the room and dropped a… thing. It looked vaguely like a bomb.

And then the thing exploded, dying everything a horrid shade of Bled.

* * *

><p>"What the fuck was that, Pirate me?" Arthur Kirkland demanded as he distributed mashed turnips around the room an hour later. The students were in their seats still, cringing at the terrible not-purple.<p>

"Karen DuLay's new invention, the Bled Bomb," Ninja Kiku cut in before Pirate Arthur could respond. The two were sniggering, even though they too were covered in Bled paint. "She had some extras."

"So she's gone from cookie missiles to Bled paint bombs?" Arthur groaned. "That girl never stops, does she? Next thing you know she'll create a Vambiolaria nuke –"

"I was under the impression that that weapon has already been achieved by Mary Sues," Kiku remarked.

"Well, fuck."

"Precisely."

SatW England was frantically rubbing his monocle. "Cor, I'd forgotten how horrid this colour was," he groused.

Out in the students, R'lyeh was feeling pretty confident that this was the foulest colour he had ever seen, and he had seen many, many foul colours before.

Bled was apparently some impossible mixture of red and blue that didn't quite form purple. It was just as mind-boggling as the architecture of his city, and he realised with horror that even _his_eyes hurt looking at the colour. But there was a small consolation in that he at least could withstand it longer than others. Nyan McNyan, the Nyan Cat student, was quivering behind Splendorguy, who seemed to be the only student (besides Annejo Ikm) immune to the colour.

"What sort of splendorfully awful colour is this?" the Slenderman student drawled, crossing his extremely slender arms and legs and observing the mayhem through a nondescript lack of face. "It's simply not splendorfull at all!"

"I'll agree with you on that," sobbed Flannery May the Kyoukai Youkai. Customs had to call in Kiku to decipher the hiragana and kanji on her form, and Kiku had suggested turning her into an Oni instead. Poor Flannery was therefore forced to look like a Homestuck troll dipped into a vat of red paint. After all, calling oneself a gap demon in a different language than the folks at Customs was just asking for trouble.

"It was on our forms," Ariana Vargas Carriedo pointed out. "Only, over here it's so much brighter…"

"Heheh, the Karkat character's writhing in agony," Chad Gluesbane snickered. R'lyeh rather liked his armour, even if it wasn't as invincible as it looked.

"Don't be such a grump," Sara Juarez chided as the Mochis passed out trays of mashed turnips.

Slowly yet steadily the students got rid of the Bled, most of them trying to do so with their eyes closed. After that, the assembly was effectively over.

* * *

><p>A de-Bled-ed R'lyeh sat in the Café Foscarini after dinner (the customary food fight, usually involving pairings featuring the Nation whose cuisine was being sampled, had been DenmarkNorway versus Denmark/Netherlands in honour of the visiting Scandinavia and the World Nations). The hour right after dinner was happy hour for the Bar Foscarini (happy hour for the café was between the end of classes and the start of dinner; drinks at happy hour could be purchased for a single truffle or cigarette as opposed to boxes and packs normally), so R'lyeh was indulging in some high-quality Bleeprum. Andy had gotten very efficient at making drinks with Bleeprin, the wonder-drug of the Hogwarts Fanfiction Academy. Bleeprin was brain bleach – bleach and aspirin mixed in a way that was somehow edible. Andy sometimes even rolled his own Bleepettes, with or without tobacco. Some of the more unfortunate students were addicted, wanting to get rid of the mental scars that were an everyday occurrence at IAHF.

"I would like another shot of this," the Lovecraftian City muttered after a moment as he stared at his empty shotglass. "Human, make it. Quickly."

Andy refilled his glass. "You seem to be more amiable than yesterday," he noted.

"Too tipsy to take over the world, please hold." R'lyeh downed the shot. "Do you sell drinks without this... uh, Bleep whatever?"

"Normal rum, normal whiskey… whatever the plothole chucks at me." Andy shrugged. "Tea, coffee –"

"Darjeeling, make it quick." R'lyeh chucked a truffle at him. Andy caught it expertly and nodded.

"You sure you want to add caffeine after all of that alcohol and Bleeprin?" he asked.

"Human, you will do as I say –"

"Hey. The name's Andy. I can deny you service, you know."

"And I'm going to take over the school anyway, so you might as well follow orders."

Andy snorted. "You think that's going to happen?" he asked as he fixed up a cup of loose-leaf Darjeeling.

"Not sure where to start, really," R'lyeh shrugged. "How does one go about taking over such an odd school?"

"Dunno; never tried it myself." Andy smiled as Sara Parker entered the café and sent the cup of Darjeeling down to R'lyeh. "Sara! Is it the usual for you?"

"Sonic Screwdriver. Make it strong, baby." Sara smirked. Andy nodded and went about making the drink (Bleepka with orange juice). "Jen needs to lighten up. Have you noticed that lately? She's more depressing than me at my own funeral."

"You look pretty alive to me," Andy drawled. Sara laughed.

"Well, I guess. But that girl's got a longer face than a horse! I think she needs to get some meds for her depression. She wouldn't hear any of that."

"You sure it's depression?"

"They broke up at _Thanksgiving_." Sara sipped her Sonic Screwdriver. "Did you see her on her own birthday? Even Lady Gaga wouldn't have been able to read her poker face. I swear –"

"Who are you talking about?" R'lyeh asked. Sara looked over at him and smirked.

"Colleague of mine; none of your business."

"Oh. I see." R'lyeh sipped his tea pensively, the steam fogging up his hipster-frame glasses. Curse this frail human body of his! Evil should not be farsighted!

The Nerd Group was convening at the tables behind the bar. Some boy named George Rowland was introducing himself. R'lyeh tried to tune them out and to listen to Sara's babble. With all of this practice, he'd better become an expert eavesdropper soon.

"Merka was asking her if she was going to dive back into the gene pool, if you know what I mean? Going fishing?" Sara was saying. "Thought she had her sights on Michael. He doesn't know a thing, though."

"Are you sure? They're good friends and all. Sometimes friends just stay that way…" Andy's dishcloth had paused in the middle of the glass.

"Well, we've started up the old tradition of betting pools. Got any candidates?"

"I wouldn't know." Andy laughed weakly. "Workbitch, Michael… who else? I hope it stays that way."

R'lyeh finished his tea and left the café.

* * *

><p><strong>Notes:<strong> Requests for Christmas pictures are now open! They will close next chapter.


	30. Bledstletoe and Humbugs

**Notes: **I do not own "Freeze Ray" from _Dr. Horrible's Sing-Along Blog_. I also do not own Patrick Star.  
>Requests for pictures still open until next chapter, when Christmas should probably be over in the story.<p>

* * *

><p><strong>Part V<strong>

It snowed on Christmas Eve Saturday. Heavily.

"It's like a blizzard out there," Kitty Smith whistled. Her friend and partner in crime back in their IAHF days, Anita Khok, was dragging in the Relationship Chart. Merka had attempted explain the new developments. It nearly took her an hour.

"Yeah, it is." Anita shrugged. "You know where Mariam is?"

"Didn't she graduate this past semester?"

"I don't remember." Anita looked sadly at the dotted line between 'WORKBITCH BARTHOLOMEW' and 'JENNIFER CHANG'. "It's sad."

"What are you referring to?"

"Everything. I'd thought Christmas back here would be funnier. Happier. It was boring back home, and now it's…"

"It's depressing here?" quipped Kitty. From far away Ivan and Alfred could be heard trying to hijack the loudspeakers in an attempt to call each other names. "I wouldn't really say that –"

"Or maybe it's because Jennifer's a giant black lump of coal that ruins everyone's Christmas," Anita mused. "What a humbug."

"What do you think of her and the Angel?"

"Friends. I'm not seeing the spark," Anita nodded grimly. "I think the quickest way to solve our problem is to get her ridiculously drunk and shove her in Workbitch's direction –"

"He's vacationing. Kriss told me." Kitty shrugged. "We could shove her at SatW Denmark –"

"Oh man, she'd kill us. At least SatW England…?"

"Nah, we all know Arthur would kill us for sacrificing his counterpart to a sexually deprived Anglophile," Kitty tapped her nose thoughtfully. "Think, think! Who do we know might be okay with dealing with a tipsy Jennifer? Because by Glaurung, we _are_ getting her smashed with Bleepesteem!"

"Bleepwhatsit?"

"Bleeprin and Essence of Self-Esteem. Glod knows that girl needs a giant tub of it. Along with ice-cream. We should get her a huge carton of Ben and Jerry's Breakup Brew."

"It fills the void," sniggered Anita.

* * *

><p>Workbitch Bartholomew liked his vacationing spot, really. It was nice and tropical. For once he could wear less than a stuffy suit and simply stuffy shirts and rolled up slacks.<p>

Well, by the time the narration came around to him he was down to cropped-sleeve shirts and Bermuda shorts, and looked rather like a cross between one of those door-to-door proselytisers and a stereotypical tourist. Only without the camera.

This particular morning he was on the dock reading a book (the collected works of Lovecraft) with his feet in the water. Not too far away, Ameriwhale was lazily floating along in the water. Occasionally a burst of water came out of its blowhole. Workbitch generally paid it no attention, unless it nudged at his feet demanding fish.

After a while, he felt rather thirsty and thought vaguely of making himself a martini back at the cabin. The beachside cabin (impromptu building by Yao's workers and surprisingly high-quality with hardwood flooring and comfortable furniture, as well as running water and electricity) sported a minibar, after all, and was supplied by a supply plothole similar to the one fuelling IAHF itself. It was a very comfortable place to live, and Workbitch found himself rather dreading the end of his séjour. Back to work, to scheduling and copying and filing… back to Mr. Allen, Mr. Hugh, and Jennifer.

Jennifer. It was partly his fault that she left him; that much he had accepted. She had laid out her accusations, hadn't she? Too slow. Too scared. Too passive. He didn't do much of the work that constituted a couple, and for that she gave up her efforts.

Aside from Lovecraft, he had done some other reading, too. He wouldn't consider himself a sentimental romantic, but he did read those books on love and happily ever after. There was a list now, a list of things he would have done differently. Things he would do differently.

Thing is, she was too far gone. She was probably already with that Angel. He had most definitely screwed the pooch.

Workbitch got up from his seat on the dock, but no sooner had he stepped onto the sand did the air ripple in front of him. Three Mary Sues stepped out. The foremost one looked like a cross between a feminine Ezio Auditore and Romano's female counterpart.

"Shit, not the part of IAHF we wanted to go to," she muttered. Workbitch immediately snapped to attention.

"Excuse me?" he demanded. The Mary Sue looked at him. "What business do you have at IAHF?"

"Whatever business we have is none of yours," sneered the Mary Sue, drawing a gun and aiming it at him.

* * *

><p>"Ema! Megan! Dirk! Lucia!" Merka beamed brightly. "Nice to see you all again! Well, maybe not you, Dirk, but –"<p>

"Sorry," Dirk replied, shrugging. "Not my fault. Well, not entirely my fault. You know." He smirked. "Where's Lucas?"

"Over here – oh, it's you. I'm not here," Lucas said abruptly, turning about and stalking away. Megan tackled him and dragged him back before he could get far. "You vile harlot! Unhand me!"

"Nope! You're a cutie and we all know you've got it for my brother," giggled the Alien. She winked at Lucia Verdas, her ex-girlfriend from student days. The mermaid smiled quickly and looked away.

"Great, just great," Ema Skye sighed, clapping a hand to her forehead. "Does anyone have any snackoos –?"

"Right here." Karen came running out of a nearby room with a platter of cookies. "Gingerbread! Sadly, I couldn't give them to Ludwig –"

"I think he still thinks you slip roofies into them," cackled Megan. "Anyway, how have the lot of you been? I've been hearing stuff about Jennifer being a pain in the ass, but that's Jennifer for you –"

"Since when has that been true?" Jennifer brushed past the group on her way to the library, as per usual. "Absolute rubbish."

"Oh man, it's even worse than I thought," Megan whispered to Taylor Drews-Garcia and Charlie Tenterden as they appeared, both of them watching their colleague stride away. "Maybe we could just push her off a cliff and –"

"Don't be so mean," chided Lucia.

"I'm back! What's this about murder?" Loki Shadow Reave popped up from behind Lucas, causing him to give a very unmanly squeal. "Oh, I got you good! I got you _good_!"

"You are as immature as ever, hellspawn!" Lucas huffed, walking over to Karen's side. "Are there any other returning alumni?"

"Not that I'm aware of," Ema replied. "Lucia, weren't you saying something about Eva Danielson –"

"Dunno what happened to her. Isn't Yuki-Rin working at this school?"

"Present!" Yuki-Rin Oxenstierna came rushing in. "What's going on?"

"Murder plot," Megan replied immediately. "We're going to go push the humbug off a cliff. And by humbug, I mean Jennifoos."

"Oh, she'll survive," snickered Karen. "I mean, with all the rumours flying around about her love triangle with Workbitch and Michael, she might as well pour glitter all over herself."

"The next Bella Swan, and twice as depressing," Megan cackled.

"We're not actually going to kill her, right?" Lucas asked, frowning. "Thou shalt not kill. I won't have it on my conscience."

"You don't have to push – you know what, sometimes I swear you just can't take a joke." Megan pouted, crossing her arms.

"Obviously the most expedient route to getting her little rain cloud away is to get her absolutely hammered." Kitty Smith had arrived with a plan in hand. "Anita and I have the master plan. We need to make sure she doesn't hear a thing about it."

Megan's eyes lit up. They were as sickeningly coloured as before, in a what-the-heck-is-the-colour-of-her-eyes sort of way. "Ooh, we're going to go with the drunken sex method? I approve."

"You would," sniffed Lucas.

"And you wouldn't." Megan laughed and nudged Dirk towards him. "So, who's the unlucky sacrifice?"

"Probably one of the students. We'll have to do some scouting. That's where you lot come in."

"So we're picking a target? Glee!" Megan clapped her hands. "What the fuck are we waiting for, then? Our sanity hangs in the balance! Onwards!"

* * *

><p>"Gut, gut. Eins, zwei, drei – lach mal!"<p>

"Dies ist dumm."

"Thanks for your input, Ludwig. You may put that Sham-Wow down," Elisabeta Héderváry snapped.

Ludwig looked over at SatW Germany, who shrugged.

"Right, next!" SatW Austria grinned at Elisabeta, who blushed and looked away. "Tino Väinämöinen and Berwald Oxenstierna, with Tino as Santa and Berwald as a reindeer."

"I feel r'diculous," grumbled Berwald as he shuffled out to the camera behind Tino. (He had just been returned by the denizens beyond the fourth wall; they had rewritten him with a better accent. And to prevent further cracks in that wall, the people writing this paragraph will withdraw into their corner once more. Thank you for your patience.)

"Don't be that way," snickered Tino. "Someone requested it."

Berwald grumbled some Swedish curses. SatW Sweden rolled his eyes.

Other students had, once again, been roped into taking pictures for requests as well. Lucas had been detained by Elaine the Tourist, tied to the top of the tree in the entry before the Orientation Hall, and forced to smile for several pictures. Elaine had also tried to get Michael to bite his wings and stare at the camera with a come-hither look in his eyes, but his expression looked more constipated than sexy.

"Thank you!" Kagaya, another one of the photographers, exclaimed as Kartik Abingdon and Matsu Takeshima broke apart from their dance pose. "Raoul and Christine, you two may leave –"

"Kartik and Matsu, thank you very much," snapped Kartik.

"Yeah, whatever. Does anyone know where I can find Aki Chung-Feng and Heathcliffe Sarutobi?"

* * *

><p>Alexis Cal and Boris the Honey Badger were in the library once more when Jennifer entered and sat down at her usual table. R'lyeh entered moments later and headed towards them.<p>

"This isn't the section for tips on how to take over the world, you know. That's over there," Boris muttered to R'lyeh, nudging his snout in another direction.

"I know; I've already looked at the selection. Napoleon? Hitler? Idiots." R'lyeh rolled his eyes. "No, what I'm looking for this time is a book of conversation starters."

Boris started laughing, earning their trio a glare from Monaco the librarian.

"You can't be _that_ socially awkward," Alexis whispered, giggling.

"No, of course not!" R'lyeh crossed his arms and glared. "That was my attempt at a joke. No, what I need is a suitable excuse to talk to that human over there."

"Which human?" Boris whispered. R'lyeh pointed. "Oh, that Staff member we saw the other day. What was her name, Jessica?"

"No, no, Jennifer," R'lyeh corrected.

"Well, she does look rather depressed," Alexis mused. "You could go over there and… joke with her."

Boris snorted. "Oh, I'm sure she'll like that, a random Lovecraftian City going up to her and inflicting her with his sense of humour." R'lyeh aimed another kick at him, which he dodged easily. "Hey! You don't kick friends, you know!"

"Evil has no –"

"Oh, that is just _so cliché_!" Alexis snickered. "You know we're your friends whether you want us to be or not."

"And friends make good wingmen," finished Boris, "so go up to her and do your evil overlord routine." In a deeper voice, he added, "hel_lo_, I am the evil city of R'lyeh –"

"No, it's like this," Alexis tittered, and burst into song. "I'm the guy who'll make it real, the feelings you don't dare to feel! I'll bend the world to our will and we'll make time stand still!"

"That's the plan!" agreed Boris. "Rule the world! You and me, any day!"

"You two are not helping!"

"Oh come on, girls love Dr. Horrible!"

"What if she doesn't?"

"Why don't you go and find out, then?"

R'lyeh stormed over to the table. Tch, humans and their complicated mating rituals! Not that he was selecting a mate, no sir. He just wanted to talk to her! That wasn't against the rules, was it?

"Hi," came out of his mouth before he could stop it, and he mentally facepalmed at the stupidity of the phrase. Who uses that, anyway? Certainly not one of his status –

"Hey."

R'lyeh blinked. "How… uh, are you?"

"Fine."

Was she monosyllabic? "I am the personification of the city of R'lyeh."

"Sure, and I'm a duck."

"You don't look very much like a duck to me. You don't have feathers. Or a bill. Or –"

"The name's Jennifer. Nice to meet you." She did not look up from her book. R'lyeh felt highly affronted.

"I thought humans looked at each other when they conversed."

"I'm not in the mood for conversation, sorry." Jennifer snapped the book closed and glared up at him. "What do you want? No, I will not play matchmaker between you and Ukraine."

R'lyeh frowned. "Why would I be interested in mating with Ukraine?"

"Or Hungary, or Monaco, or Seychelles, or –"

"I do not wish to speak to them."

Jennifer huffed. "Fine, then. I won't play matchmaker between you and Mr. Hugh –"

"I do not have any interest in forming such relations, thank you." R'lyeh took the seat across from her. "You appeared despondent. I thought I would grace you with my company, because I will soon become overlord of this school, and –"

Jennifer snorted. "Oh, so you _are_ the one Merka was ranting about!"

"Merka? What?"

"My colleague, Merka Breigher. She was talking about some guy who called himself R'lyeh who interrupted Mic Night on Thursday. Said he was an arrogant son of a bitch." She giggled, which R'lyeh took to be a good sign. "Well, you definitely seem like the type, but it's funny. It really is."

"I assure you, I am not one to laugh at –"

"But you have a propensity for sarcasm." Jennifer shrugged, smiling. "So. What exactly got you in here?"

R'lyeh frowned. "I… I'm not too sure. I think I once wrote something about me taking over the world."

"Well, good luck with that." Jennifer snickered. R'lyeh breathed a sigh of relief.

Mission 'attempt verbal contact' successful. Next mission…

* * *

><p>In the Staff picture session, the list had been whittled down to just the picture of Gamzee with Romania, but neither one was there.<p>

In fact, Romania (and SatW Romania, the vampire) was gathered with Wizard Arthur and Norway in Wizard Arthur's study. Potions, strange plants from the conservatory, and unappetising potions ingredients lined the walls. Sconey was sitting on Wizard Arthur's shoulder as he hovered over a cauldron.

"Cursed mistletoe? Of all things," snickered Norway. "Surely you could find something better to curse…"

"I assure you, cursed mistletoe is great," Wizard Arthur replied calmly. "I've been working on it with the Bled Pinjas. Once a couple attempts to snog under it, the berries burst and spray them with Bled paint. This Christmas sentimentality should be suppressed for the sake of those only here for the humour."

A pause lingered while a Mochi bounced off to repair the fourth wall.

By the time the Magic Trio (and SatW Romania) had put the finishing touches on what Wizard Arthur had dubbed Bledstletoe, the Holiday Crossover Banquet was in full swing. The trolls had brought over Faygo and TaB, and John Egbert was determinedly avoiding anything that could have been made by Betty Crocker. Top of that list, of course, were Alfred's fluorescent cakes. Not even Nanna could have made something so ludicrous.

"what 2ort of holiiday ii2 thii2 agaiin?" Sollux Captor muttered as he avoided the things with honey on them – which sadly included Honeybaked Ham, easily the most delicious type of ham on the table. Alfred and SatW America were pigging out, as per usual.

Lucas had heard the technologically clever troll. "Tonight is Christmas Eve, the night of the birth of Our Lor –"

"LUCAS! LUCAS, YOU HAVE TO EAT THESE HOLIDAY COOKIES! THEY'RE DELICIOUS!" Karen came running up to him, waving cookies above her head. "That nice old lady gave them to me –"

"Not Gloria Barber!" Michael swooped in and snatched the cookies away. "She's dangerous!"

"How so?"

"She targets Angels," Amitiel Arch replied solemnly. Cain Harren walked over, strumming a lyre absentmindedly.

"Which means there's roofies in the cookies?" Karen demanded, her eyes wide.

"Who knows. We will protect you, if you've already tried some," Michael offered. Karen shrugged.

Meanwhile, the reunion students were gathered around the drinks, throwing furtive looks at Jennifer who was talking to R'lyeh, Boris, and Alexis.

"Excellent work, Anita," Megan whispered, grinning.

"I didn't do anything," Anita said, frowning.

"No, I did everything," Ema remarked. Lucia rolled her eyes.

"Sure, Ema, and I'm Pinkie Pie."

"You are? Oh, Pinkie Pie is adorable –"

Lucia facepalmed. "Look. We have a suitable target to push our depressed friend towards. We'll just get her drunk, shove her towards that blond boy with the flannel and the glasses, and shove them into that corner with the mistletoe. Simple as that."

"That's a lot of shoving," Ema remarked through a mouthful of cookie. Thankfully she did not get hers from Gloria Barber.

"Well, how else are we going to do it?"

"A crane."

"Where are we going to get the crane?"

"Poland."

Lucia groaned. "Look. We should take Jennifer, get her drunk, and push her towards that boy. Even Patrick Star could do it."

"How do we convince her to get drunk, though?" Anita asked.

"Offer her a drink, and another, and another," Megan replied. "Let's go."

They grabbed a bottle of Bleepesteem and a glass and set off for Jennifer, but before they could make it there the air started to waver. Three Mary Sues appeared, tailed by a man. A very familiar man.

Jennifer whipped around in shock. "Workbitch!" she gasped.

Workbitch looked right through her. "What's wrong with his eyes?" Jennifer demanded, jaw dropping. "Workbitch, answer me!"

"He's under the influence of Aura of Smooth. He won't be able to." Mr. Hugh had appeared by her side, Emma in his arms.

"Workbitch!" Jennifer ran towards the secretary, but the Mary Sues were already running away with him following them like a puppet. Her expression stricken, Jennifer turned to look at R'lyeh one last time before charging through the doors and out of sight.

"Don't –" Mr. Hugh started to say, but the Lovecraftian City was already following her out the door. "Why do these things always happen at parties?" he demanded to the room at large. No one answered. Emma started to cry.

"Should I go get them?" Charlie asked hesitantly.

"No, you'll just get caught up with the 'Sues as well," Mr. Hugh replied. Charlie snickered something about Mr. Hugh caring for him and nudged Megan, who had dropped the glass when the 'Sues had appeared. Lucia set the Bleepesteem down on the nearest table.

"So much for our plan," the mermaid sighed.

* * *

><p><strong>Notes:<strong> Polish crane is a reference to an episode of _WTO Sisterhoods_ (which needs more people who don't speak Chinese as their first language because I want to hear more accents) where this one Polish chick (who had the cutest accent ever) talked about theft in Poland. Apparently stealing cranes is a common occurrence, even if cranes weigh like, a couple hundred tons.


	31. Groundhog Code

**Notes:** Picture requests are now closed. I do not own the TARDIS or the phrase "it's a trap/tarp!".

* * *

><p><strong>Part VI<strong>

**STAFF MEMBER AND STUDENT DISAPPEAR AT HOLIDAY CROSSOVER BANQUET**

_Jennifer Faye Chang, United Kingdom representative on the International Academy of Hetalia Fanfiction's Group of Eight, and R'lyeh, first semester student at IAHF, mysteriously disappeared at the Holiday Crossover Banquet last night. _

_Granted, they did not disappear at the party itself, but rather outside the party. The cause of their disappearance is reportedly linked to the appearance of three Mary Sues and the subsequent escape of Venezia Rosabella Loredana Vargas, the Mary Sue under custody at IAHF. The three Mary Sues who appeared at the party had reportedly taken Chang's ex-boyfriend, Secretary Workbitch Bartholomew, hostage; Chang had been last seen chasing him out of the room. R'lyeh was last seen following her. Bartholomew, on the other hand, was found unhurt in Venezia Vargas's former cell._

"_They did something to them," says Bartholomew. "I'm not sure what it was because I can barely remember what happened, but it looked like there was a struggle."_

_Bartholomew had been under the influence of Aura of Smooth around the time the disappearance occurred. He was unable to provide a detailed account on what he saw. _

_An investigation by PPC Agent Kitty Smith and the G8 is currently under way to discover what had happened to Chang and R'lyeh, but so far nothing has been unearthed._

"_It sucks, having to work during break, but it'll be necessary if we want to know what happened," says Kriss Kross, Japan representative on the G8. "We've already checked for plotholes and stuff, but that has turned up negative. If anyone has any information to provide, we would welcome it greatly."_

* * *

><p>"All we've got," Alexis told Stan as she folded up the Christmas Day edition of the <em>Bled Chronicles<em>, "is that R'lyeh and Jennifer were talking to each other before everything happened."

Michael and Workbitch, who had just wandered into the cafeteria, stopped to listen in.

"What were they discussing?" Stan asked.

"Things. Stuff." The Romulan shrugged and patted Boris, who was sitting next to her licking his plate clean. He sported a Santa hat on his head that had been a present from some girl named 'Ema Skye'. Apparently thinking that they were an adorable trio, Ema had sent Alexis, Boris, and R'lyeh matching Santa hats. Poor R'lyeh was, as previously mentioned, unable to receive his.

"I… don't understand." Stan frowned.

"They were probably plotting world domination," Boris replied, not even looking up from his plate. "He seemed happy enough."

"Oh come on, we know it was more than that," scoffed Alexis. "They were discussing favourites."

"Like… books? Films?"

"Yeah. Stuff like that. What, is that against the rules?"

"No, it's cool." Stan shrugged. "But you say the two were conversing right before Workbitch appeared and Jen chased him out of the room, right? About favourite books and films and stuff, right?"

"Yeah."

"Cool. Thanks for your time. Can the _Bled Chronicles_ quote you on any of this?"

"Sure, whatever."

Stan nodded his thanks and left. Workbitch and Michael rapidly exited the cafeteria again.

"Let's get this clear. You were not with her," the secretary stated.

"No; whatever gave you that idea? We are friends."

"Moirallegiance?"

"I've never really understood Homestuck."

Workbitch sighed. "It's what people term 'bromance' or… well, a close platonic relationship."

"That would be it."

"Right –"

"Do you still… have feelings?"

Workbitch paused. "Well. Um. Tiny amounts, I guess. More just… regret that we couldn't end it on better terms."

"You broke her heart." Michael's expression was serious. "Have you not noticed it even before you went on vacation? She was depressed, or in her terms, 'hungover'."

"I see. I'm sorry." Workbitch shuffled from one foot to the other.

"Can you remember what happened last night?" Michael's expression softened a bit. Workbitch shook his head.

"Not really. Still unclear. I wasn't in control of my senses, after all."

"Is it visual? Couldn't you hear anything?"

Workbitch closed his eyes. "I think I remember that a little better." He paused. "Pleading."

Michael stopped mid-step. They were at the library. The Angel nodded at the Café Foscarini; the two of them entered and ordered tea from Andy.

"Pleading?" Michael asked as Andy brought them the tea. "Can you remember what they were pleading for?"

"No, it was just her pleading. He was saying something about killing them all. She was begging them… to… "

"To…?"

"Not to kill me, or something." Workbitch frowned. "She demanded what they were doing to me. The Mary Sues were saying something about time… I… I don't know…"

"Time?" Andy cut into their conversation, frowning as well. "Sorry to intrude, but do the Mary Sues have the phone box?"

"No, not a TARDIS," Workbitch replied briskly. "They were talking about time… a machine, but I'm pretty sure it wasn't a TARDIS. Chrono something. I'm not sure. Jen was pleading pretty loudly. Almost screaming. Nearly drowned out everything else. Which, I guess, is why they gagged her."

"Gagged!" Michael's expression was horrified. "And then what?"

"And then the boy threatened them again. There was a thud."

"Killed? Knocked out?" Andy demanded.

"Not sure. Utter silence on his part."

"They didn't fall to Aura of Smooth?" Andy whispered.

"I'm not sure how Jen didn't become a victim, but I reckon the boy was immune to Aura of Smooth. One of the Sues was cursing about how 'it didn't work on him', so… yeah." Workbitch sipped his tea. "They talked more about time, about how Venezia apparently 'spilled it all', whatever that means, and where that Ernest Satow guy could be."

The other two leaned in with bated breath. Workbitch took another sip of tea.

"Silence. I started to come back to consciousness – well, full conscious control over my body – and noticed that the boy and Jen were gone. And so were the Mary Sues."

Andy shook his head. "This is serious. You need to tell the G8."

"I will," sighed Workbitch. "I guess my vacation's ended."

* * *

><p><em>Beep, beep, beep<em>. A hand flew out and smacked the snooze button on the alarm clock.

Minutes passed.

_Beep, beep, beep_ – SLAM. Jennifer opened a bleary eye. She looked at the date on her day-by-day calendar.

December 24th. Saturday.

Wait, wasn't that yesterday?

Sighing, the fangirl crawled out of bed, threw on her robe, and padded over to the calendar. She ripped off the page. There were no dates underneath, only blank sheets with notes written on them.

Jennifer read the topmost note.

_There is only today. Make it count._

Jennifer frowned. What did that mean? She turned to the next date. What should've been the date December 26th was instead a note:

_This is a temporal loop plothole. It repeats a certain day over and over. You may think that you are back at IAHF, but you are really at the Mary Sue Factory Happily Ever After, Ltd. _

_Those fucking Mary Sues_. Jennifer's scowl deepened as she turned the page.

_You have twelve hours, the last twelve hours of your waking life at IAHF, to find the location of a time machine known as the Chronotransporter. Once you have found it, write it on this calendar and give it to us. Failure to do so will result in the time loop being played over and over until we have obtained the information, and refusal to do so will result in death. Your choice._

_What a bunch of bitches_, Jennifer thought vehemently as she turned the page.

_We know we are,_ the note read smugly_. Your companion, that annoying Lovecraftian boy, is in his room in the boys' dorm. He will help you on your quest. Now go. Time's ticking._

Jennifer grabbed her bag and shoved the calendar into it. After dressing for the day, she slouched out of her room and headed out of the Staff Section for the student dormitories. Everyone she had seen yesterday morning were carrying out the same conversations, doing the same motions. Charlie Tenterden even bumped against her again in his hurry to get to Mr. Hugh's office with papers.

It was snowing heavily outside the windows. Jennifer frowned and wished she'd brought a coat with her. She needn't worry, though, because the door leading in had suddenly opened and out of the white frenzy came Alexis, Boris, and R'lyeh.

"Brrr! It's blizzarding out there!" Alexis exclaimed, shivering even in her coat. Boris shook the snow off his fur; he was wearing earmuffs and a scarf. "Boris, don't get all of that onto me! Not cool!"

"Which nation's pitiful cuisine will we sample today?" R'lyeh drawled, and looked over at Jennifer, nodding.

"Vietnamese," Boris grunted, nodding towards the bulletin board. "Ooh, shrimp!"

"Delicious!" Alexis grinned. "Come on, let's go!" She picked up the honey badger and ran towards the cafeteria doors. R'lyeh turned towards Jennifer and shrugged.

"I shall catch up with you two post-haste!" he called, but Alexis and Boris had already vanished into the cafeteria. The Lovecraftian city turned to Jennifer again, looking slightly awkward.

"How are you?" Jennifer asked after a moment.

"Shell-shocked," he replied calmly.

"Same." Jennifer nodded.

"It's preposterous. A temporal loop plothole? Where in the world did that come from?"

"Mary Sues are notorious in badfic for 'accidentally' repeating scenes. I wouldn't be surprised." Jennifer shuffled from one foot to the other and rubbed her hands. "Glod, it's freezing."

"Indeed." R'lyeh pulled out his calendar from a messenger bag. "So. We are required to find the location of a time machine in order to return?"

"That's what it sounds like, yeah," Jennifer made a face. "Nothing good will come out of Mary Sues obtaining the ability to manipulate time."

"Precisely what are Mary Sues?" R'lyeh asked as they headed down the hall, towards the cafeteria.

"They're characters, a certain type of character. Generally they're pet characters who can do no wrong in an author's eyes. Everything comes easily to them. The male version is the Gary Stu."

"I see." R'lyeh was pensive. "Well. Those… Mary Sues who captured us yesterday… they were saying something about something not working on us. What do you think –?"

"Aura of Smooth," Jennifer replied immediately. "They were frustrated that they couldn't affect you with their Aura of Smooth, which is their way of brainwashing other characters into doing the dirty work for them."

"And this is _not_ them forcing us to do their will?" R'lyeh demanded, gesturing to the calendar.

"I think they would much rather have brainwashed us and sent us back into IAHF, but since we were resisting, they forced us into this," Jennifer mused. "I guess Lovecraftian students like you are naturally immune. Not sure how I resisted."

"Perhaps you were also immune to it."

"I don't know." Jennifer frowned. "I'll have to look into it. Maybe it was just a one-time thing. I was so preoccupied with making sure Work was okay…"

"Work?"

"Ex." A shadow flitted over Jennifer's face for a few seconds. R'lyeh nodded hastily.

"Right, sorry. Well. How do they know that the location of the Chronotransporter was disclosed at IAHF yesterday if they do not know that location already?"

"Good question." Jennifer sighed. "Still. Either we get them the location over several time loops, or we die."

"Those foolish Mary Sues! I cannot be killed!"

"Technically, neither can I. But we don't want to test that, do we?"

"No." R'lyeh looked slightly – oh, was it true? – frightened. "I suppose if we wish to escape this loop, we should get them the location of this… time machine."

"Where do you think we should start?"

The two paused, and looked at the cafeteria.

* * *

><p>Venezia sighed for the umpteenth time that day.<p>

"Seriously, will you stop acting like a fucking damsel in distress?" her partner (and technically her sibling) Alicia Christina Vargas snapped, polishing the gun she had pulled on Workbitch. "You're free and we're back in the factory without further incident. What more could you want?"

Venezia stared at her gloomily. Alicia groaned.

"Great, you're reminding me of_ her_." She jabbed a thumb towards Julietta Shakespeare Vargas, who was writing sonnets – or at least attempting to, because she had no idea how iambic pentameter worked – to her Romeo. "Is it that Hugh Fraser?"

"Hugh Fraser?" echoed Francesca Fetuccini Spaghetti Penne Fusilli Vargas, leaning over Alicia's shoulder and grinning at Venezia. "He's so dreamy isn't he?"

"He attracts practically every one of our kind, including the Stus and Oohs," Alicia remarked sourly. "Pheromones or something."

"Or it's because every kawaii desu girl like ourselves tend to fall for bishie tsunderes like him!" giggled Francesca. "Not that I'm in lurve with him like Venezia; I'm just pointing out a reason –"

"Yes, yes, I know," snapped Alicia. "Point is, he's a trap."

"It's a tarp!" screamed Francesca. Alicia smacked her with the butt of the gun. "Owwie…"

"Obviously he attracts us to lure us to our deaths. Therefore if you want to live, you forget about him." Alicia nodded. "There are better people to fall for. He's just a diplomat, and not even a true Canon Character at that."

"But…" sighed Venezia.

"Remember what happened to Lilith? To Alexandria Bonnefoy? To Luciya Emi von Kyuute? They were all killed by people close to Fraser. Luciya was killed by Fraser himself. He's bad news, Vennie. Don't go near him again."

Venezia sighed. "Right. Well." She nodded in the direction of the observation panel. There, at voice command, the Sues could spy on the developments in the temporal loop plothole. "Should we check on them?"

"Sì." Alicia got up from her seat and walked over to the panel.


	32. Ema! Emma! Ema! Emma!

**Notes: **I do not own Batman, the Batcave, or Dadaism.

* * *

><p><strong>Part VII<strong>

R'lyeh was frustrated, but to say that he was merely frustrated would be the same as saying that Megan Vaughan was just a_ little_ long-winded. It so turned out that Megan was the person he was talking to. Megan was purportedly a 'Welsh Human', which Customs back at IAHF had taken to mean that she was part-sheep.

"Look, it's not like I know where the time machine is, you know? I mean… I have no idea where it is… It could be, you know, in the Staff Section? But really. What the heck does time travel have to do with Hetalia… unless they're taking us back in time someday to learn more about different historical periods? Oh, that'd be so much fun! I heard… that, well… some of the older students got to go back to Venice in the seventeenth century! So maybe the Staff have the time machine! What if the school was the time mach –?"

"All right. All right! I get that you have no idea where the Chronotransporter is!" R'lyeh snapped.

"Okay, okay, no need to get mad at me! But why do you need it so badly? I mean… unless you _are_ planning on taking over the school like everyone thinks you are… that'd be awful! I mean, you _are _a Lovecraftian monster – oh and by the way, I love HP Lovecraft! He's such an awesome writer… but nothing will beat my love for Hima-papa! I mean Hima-papa's so good at humour and crack but Lovecraft is so dark and mysterious… it's like reading Edgar Allan Poe with more monsters and tentacles and –"

"Will you please be silent and allow me to exit this conversation?" R'lyeh clapped a hand to his forehead.

"Oh, you're leaving? That's too bad; I wanted to ask you what it's like to be the personification of Cthulhu's dwelling. Is he a bad housekeeper? I mean, he has been passed out for quite a while and then those sailors came about and woke him –" Megan never finished her sentence, because R'lyeh had drawn a gun from a nearby plothole (plotholes within plotholes; what sort of madness was going on?) and shot her.

Jennifer heard the gunshot, left her own conversation with George Rowland (who had been just as unhelpful) and came running over. R'lyeh blew the smoke off his gun and looked at her calmly.

"You just _killed_ her?" Jennifer demanded. "How… what… _why_?"

* * *

><p>"We have information for you," Michael told Kitty Smith matter-of-factly as he and Workbitch entered the office.<p>

"Thanks, but my leave's up. I have to leave tonight," Kitty replied regretfully. "You can talk to the G8, I suppose."

"I suppose." Workbitch shuffled from one foot to the other. Only one more week until the end of break and the start of the new semester; next Monday would herald the return to classes and Learning through Pain. Ludwig was excited for the new GrammarBootCamp training regimen that, from his fervent mutterings to himself, sounded like the students would be forced to run a lap around the stadium for each grammatical error found in a given segment of their stories.

Scary thought, really.

"What's this about information?" Sara Parker and Anita Khok poked their heads out of the door that connected this office to the next. "We need information."

"Information?" echoed Shinbun-kun, Editor-In-Chief of the _Bled Chronicles_ (staffing the Mr. Newspapers of the world and the snoopiest students of the school), poked his head out of yet another door. "A scoop on what happened? Oh, I can see the headlines already! 'Workbitch Bartholomew Tells All!' 'Bartholomew Comes to Senses and Remembers What Happened!' 'An End to the Mystery of the Fateful Disappearance' –"

"That's enough," snapped Sara. "So, you remember more?"

"Wait, wait, let me grab the recorder," Shinbun hissed, disappearing into his office. Kitty yawned, gave Workbitch a pitying smile, and leaned back in her seat.

"Sorry, gotta savour the rest of my vacation," she drawled.

* * *

><p>"She just kept rambling," R'lyeh replied. "It was frustrating, and I've had a frustrating morning."<p>

"But… what if…"

"It's a temporal plothole, isn't it?" R'lyeh asked, tossing the gun into another nearby plothole. "No consequences for my actions. If I mess up, the day just repeats itself all over again. Simple."

"Right." Jennifer looked even more guarded, as if scared he'd pull a knife on her. "Well… if we start over again, we know not to ask the newly-arrived students who haven't experienced travel with the Chronotransporter. Whatever that is. I wasn't taken back to Venice last semester; I wouldn't know."

"Indeed." R'lyeh dusted his hands off. "Shall we go, then?"

"Where to?"

"Staff Section. Alfred is reported to hold a cache of 'Pocket Nukes'. I intend on testing one of them."

"Shouldn't we finish the fucking mission?"

R'lyeh smirked. "Look. Before we return to somewhere where we are held accountable for our actions, I would like to have a little amusement. Is that too much to ask?"

"I suppose not, but nuking the school –"

"Excellent.

* * *

><p>"Venezia! Alicia!" A Defective Mary Sue poked her head into the room. "You're needed in the Office. Now."<p>

That was the scariest sentence known to Factory Mary Sues. Alicia and Venezia looked at each other warily. "We'll be there," Alicia muttered, trying to wave the Defective away.

"Now," insisted the Defective, tapping her too-big feet.

The three of them – Venezia, Alicia, and the Defective – walked silently through the Urpley-Wilver halls of the factory. The sound of their footsteps seemed magnified tenfold as they got closer and closer to the Office. The Office was Lilith's office – it was still considered that even though she had been dead for eight months.

But as it turns out, Lilith had ways to avoid death fully, like other well-known antagonists who must not be named. Prior to the attack on IAHF and her death, Lilith had proclaimed a Mary Sue named Angelle Hill as her successor. Angelle was the perfect, full-blown Mary Sue version of the late Defective Agnes Hill. She sat at Lilith's desk, sharpening a knife nonchalantly. Venezia shivered at the ringing metallic sound.

"Good luck," the Defective mumbled before exiting and closing the door sharply behind her. It sounded like the thud of a gavel as the judge sentenced someone to death. Alicia and Venezia instinctively drew closer together as Angelle looked at them seriously, a dangerous smirk curving on her beautiful face.

"Lilith, my pet," she cooed. There came a slithering sound from under the desk. A giant cobra, the clone of the cobra that had terrorised IAHF last spring before being adopted by the PPC, slithered out onto the desk and along the high-backed chair that Angelle was sitting in. "What am I going to do with these two, hm?"

"I swear, I didn't –" Alicia started, but Angelle held up a finger.

"Tsk, tsk. You talk when you're allowed to." Angelle's voice was quiet, melodious. She stroked the cobra's head with cold white fingers; her nails were icy blue and the exact shade of her eyes. "It would be such hideous rudeness, wouldn't you agree? Talking out of turn? Such a dreadful thing to do. Only naughty children talk out of turn, and I make sure that all naughty children are dealt with." She paused. "Yes, Lilith. Absolutely correct."

A shiver ran down Venezia's spine. Angelle continued to stroke the cobra's head, her eyes closing. Venezia and Alicia looked at each other fearfully.

"This is all your fault," growled Alicia. Venezia looked down at her feet.

"I see." Angelle's ruby lips curved upwards. Her eyes snapped open abruptly, causing both Alicia and Venezia to take steps backwards. "Immediate retribution."

"Now look at what you've done!" Alicia moaned. Venezia remained speechless.

Angelle's face fell back into a perfect mask, like the beautifully emotionless masks that Venezia had seen at the Carnival. "My thoughts precisely," she murmured to the snake, and turned that creepy poker face towards Venezia. "Demotion."

"De…" Venezia's voice trailed off. Angelle's voice resounded like a whip cracking.

"Yes, demotion. Demotion to a desk job for you, for providing information to our enemies and for falling for Mary Sue Undesirable Lover Number One." A pause. "You know who I speak of. Hugh Fraser."

Venezia slumped. Angelle's eyes flickered to Alicia.

"And as for you, Alicia…" she paused again. The snake hissed. "Carry on."

* * *

><p>Jennifer let R'lyeh into the Staff Section. The Mochis were too busy apprehending Maiya Carver for attempting to glomp Toris Laurinaitis; Jennifer had remembered hearing about that. There were other students who were trying to sneak into the Staff Section at the same time; they were quickly chased away by the Mochis.<p>

"Calm it, Endland, he's with me," Jennifer snapped as Endland and murika bounced up to R'lyeh threateningly.

"These little rice balls are supposed to be edible, are they not?" R'lyeh demanded.

"Mochis are poisonous. I don't think you want to. They landed this one girl into the Hospital Wing last semester after she tried to eat them."

"Huh." R'lyeh crossed his arms, but followed Jennifer down the twisting corridors and pathways until he got distracted by a plaque that was labelled 'THIS IS THE HERO'S ROOM! DANGER: DO NOT ENTER!' – obviously, the room had to belong to one Alfred F. Jones who was spending his nights in the Hospital Wing due to protests and petitions and outrageously stupid bills circulating through Congress.

Jennifer walked on for quite a while until she reached Mr. Allen's office. "This is Mr. Allen's office; I think right now he's apprehending the America Adorers who got in between Alfred and Ivan's latest Biggest Abyss contest," she began to say until she realised that R'lyeh was no longer following her.

Meanwhile, R'lyeh was busy rummaging through Alfred's room, looking for weapons of mass destruction. Surely a school that housed a personification of the United States of America should have a storage house for an inevitable collection of WMDs, right? Granted, he hadn't thought to check the room where the Nations stored all of their weapons, but chances were one would not display a thermonuclear bomb next to antique swords. Or even a guillotine.

But finally, he noticed a post-it note on the wall, right next to a bookcase full of comics, films, and video games. He made a mental note to break in again and check that collection out in better detail as he examined the symbol on the post-it.

It was the Batman logo. R'lyeh frowned, and pressed against the bookcase. It swung out, leading him to an elevator.

"Oh, the simpleton owns a batcave!" he snickered as the elevator took him down.

A couple of corridors away, Jennifer was panicking as she ran through the Staff Section calling for R'lyeh. Endland and murika hopped over to her with smug 'we-told-you-so' looks on their faces.

"Shut up," Jennifer snapped at murika as she raced past the dining hall, ignoring Arthur's yell of anger as Feliciano upset the plate of scones again. Karkat's outburst didn't deter her, either. Where could that blasted Lovecraftian boy be?

She needn't worry, because there was a sudden explosion and her vision turned white –

_Beep, beep, beep_…

* * *

><p>"So, guess who's been given a Staff position?" Ema Skye demanded to the inhabitants of the Café Foscarini that night, raising her appletini. "Moi, that's who!"<p>

"No, really," Andy was wiping the glasses. Merka and Kriss were drinking pints of Guinness at the bar, Kriss making faces at the taste. At the next table, Dex Thomson, Princie Fraser, and Brigid Hughes were snickering something about 'those silly Anglophiles' over shots of Baileys Coffee. Due to the international variations in drinking age, by United States standards nearly three-fourths of the students who frequented Café Foscarini at bar hours were underage. Not that legality had ever barred American party kids from bars, but that was a different story.

"Yeah, really." Ema smirked. Arthur leaned back in his seat and slow-clapped. "Thank you, Arthur. The sentiment is appreciated."

"He's had a bottle of whiskey; don't mind him," scoffed Ursula Klevin. She was drinking tea.

"Ursula!" Ema grinned. "How's my little elitist doing, huh? Where are all of your precious friends?"

"Don't mock me," sniffed Ursula. "What are you doing here?"

"Getting an appletini –speaking of which, I want another one, Andy! Make it strong!" Ema giggled and swayed slightly on her barstool. "I'm going to be Mom Lalonde, just watch…"

"You're well on your way," Andy noted as he shook her drink. "What post did you get?"

"Official Babysitter for the Course Coordinator's Daughter." Ema chucked a small box of Godiva chocolates at Andy, who caught it expertly. His job had fine-tuned his reflexes to almost superhuman levels; the other day he had plucked a fly in mid-air.

"I was expecting 'Supreme Dictator-for-Life of IAHF'," he snickered, handing Ema her drink. "It was about time Mary and Howard told Hugh to hire a babysitter for that little brat."

"She's not a brat," Ema snapped. "She's just high-maintenance."

"Well, _duh_, she's Fraser's kid." Andy rolled his eyes. "I'd suggest asking for a pay raise as soon as possible; you'll need the extra chocolate."

His words indeed rang true in Ema's mind (along with the actual ringing from the horrible hangover she was having) the next morning, when Mr. Hugh banged open the door with Emma in his arms.

"It's half-past ten and you're still in bed?" the Course Coordinator demanded, "Hungover, too? Goodness gracious, what are we going to do with you?"

"Dadda," babbled Emma. "Dadda! Dadda…"

Mr. Hugh paid her no heed, walking over to the curtains and drawing them wide open so that the winter sunshine could strike Ema right where it hurt. She covered her head with a pillow.

"Get up, Miss Skye. There's aspirin and water on the bedside table. After you take that, you've got to start supervising Emma. I've already changed her diaper, but I expect you to be doing the same whenever she soils them again. Make sure you use diaper cream; she gets rashes from talcum powder. Make sure you only feed her mushy foods; she can't eat solids yet. Make sure the infant formula is mixed according to manufacturer's instructions on the side; she'll have terrible indigestion otherwise. Make sure she listens to an hour of Mozart, an hour of Bach, and an hour of Chopin; she can't stand Brahms for some reason. Make sure Charlie doesn't –"

"Okay, okay. Slow down." Ema was writing down Mr. Hugh's instructions. "What next?"

"Her toys and your supplies are in the nursery, which is next to my room. Down the hall, next to Allen's room, and right before the teaching staff's rooms. Don't let her near the Bled Pinjas or the Magic Trio. Just don't let her out of your sight, period. You understand?"

"Yeah." Ema nodded sullenly. Emma was whimpering now. Ema watched as Mr. Hugh whispered something in his daughter's ear and set her down on Ema's bed.

"Dada!" wailed Emma, causing a spike of pain in Ema's head. "Dadda no! Daddaaaa…"

"Daddy will be here later, okay?" Mr. Hugh's voice was shockingly gentle. "Daddy will miss you sorely. Be good to Miss Skye, won't you?"

"Dadda…" sobbed Emma as Mr. Hugh left. Ema sighed.

"Look, I don't think rejecting art standards will bring your father back," she remarked sarcastically. Emma looked at her bewilderedly. "Dadaism, you get it?" More blank stares. "Great. I thought you were smart."

"Emma miss Dadda," Emma replied petulantly.

"I don't know; I wouldn't miss anarchy." Ema grinned. "I'm Ema Skye –"

"Emma." Emma pointed to herself, frowning. "No Emma," she added, pointing to Ema.

"I'm Ema," insisted Ema. "With one M. Has anyone ever shown you your name?"

"Emma," insisted Emma, pointing to herself. "No Emma." She pointed to Ema.

"Look, my name is spelled E-M-A, whereas yours is spelled E-M-M-A. World of difference."

"M?" Emma tilted her head to the side. "Emma," she added, pointing to herself. "Ema." She pointed to Ema. "Emma. Ema."

"Exactly!" Ema grinned. "It's not bad having the same name as someone else, really. It's lots of fun. The Alexes started a club when I was here as a student. It was the Alex Inquisition. There were just so many Alexandras and Alexandrias. And then there were lots of Andrews too, and at least two Megans. Now I think there are some more Megans and at least two Arianas and some more Alexes…" she trailed off, looking at Emma's blank stare. "There are Emma students, too. With two Ms."

Emma scowled. Ema laughed.

"Right, well, I'll get changed. We need to go to whatever mealtime's being served at this time, and –"

"Emma! Ema! Emma! Ema! Emma!" Emma seemed very amused by this new concept of name-sharing, until she threw up all over Ema's shirt.

Needless to say, Emma also learnt new swear words that day.


	33. The Return of Sexual Clarification

**Part VIII**

The first class of the new semester was a Sexual Clarification seminar on New Year's Day. The students, groggy from the New Year's party the night before (Terezi had attempted to lick the replica Times Square ball and someone had 'accidentally' gotten honey on Sollux, who had just as 'accidentally' fried some Anglophiles. Investigations were being conducted to find the agent provocateur), piled into the Orientation Hall and pretended to be awake. It was almost like walking into the zombie quarter of any given zombie-apocalypse story.

"Oh, come on, people! Look alive!" Elisabeta Héderváry insisted as she skipped up to the stage tailed by Karkat, Eridan, SatW Denmark, and (of course) Berwald and Tino. Morgan LeFine, freshly out of Auchwits for attempting to tackleglomp Gamzee (thankfully he had his juggling pins with him), attempted to launch herself at Karkat and Eridan and only got restrained by Matera Playte and Regade Opacus.

"Calm your horns, bro," snapped Regade. Shoste Thermo nodded vehemently.

"W'lcome to Sexual Cl'rification!" Berwald announced as he reached the podium as well, looking extremely happy at no longer sounding like a drunkard with a potato in his mouth.

"Say _what_ clarification?" demanded Amitiel Arch, who had naturally assumed Lucas's position of resident Holier-than-Thou Asshole Angel ™. "Please, Mr. Oxenstierna, this is not a suitable topic for children –"

"Aw, shaddup," scoffed SatW Denmark. "They're bound to find out sooner or later."

"It's best if we told them the facts before they hear some outrageous lies on the Internet," agreed Tino. "If you do not feel like this is a comfortable subject for your maturity level, you are welcome to leave. However, Mr. Allen has made it a graduation requirement to sit through _at least one_ of our seminars."

Elisabeta nodded. "Too many fanfics nowadays misportray sex. Whether it's bad biology, insensitivity, or simply inappropriateness, bad smut is a serious problem in fanfiction, especially Hetalia fanfiction where the majority of gay smut is written by purportedly straight and supposedly virginal females."

"We will be holding seminars on the basics too, if you don't know those sorts of things," continued Tino as Berwald pulled up the presentation. "But today, we'll be covering something a little different. Who here has written a half-Nation, half-human baby before?"

The students looked at each other, some of them looking reluctant. Peter raised his hand and quickly pulled it back down. Lila raised an eyebrow. "I once had this character called Hunter Shadewolf who was the son of America and an Alaskan Inuit," he explained, blushing furiously.

Lila snorted. "And who'd he get with? Russia?"

"Hungary," Peter replied.

"I'm sure more of you have done something about it. What about a romance between a Nation and a human that somehow provided viable, fertile offspring? Has that happened?" Elisabeta asked.

More people refused to look at each other.

"WHAT ABOUT NATION AND TROLL OR EVEN JUST HUMAN AND TROLL?" Karkat demanded. "I'VE SEEN ONE TOO MANY FICS OF ME AND JOHN HAVING CREEPY-ASS HYBRID BABIES. WE CAN'T HAVE BABIES, FOR FUCK'S SAKE."

"What about ectobiology?" Shoste Thermo asked.

"SURE, BUT WHAT ABOUT GENETIC INCOMPATIBILITY? IMBECILES."

"He has a point," Berwald coughed. "G'netic inc'mpatibility."

"Wwhich brings us to our topic today," continued Eridan, looking uncomfortable as Amitiel. "Speciation, or wwhy you cannot havve babies wwith other species." His verbal quirk was slightly annoying, almost like a stutter. Peter wondered how the other trolls were able to express their verbal quirks, especially the ones who used numbers and parentheses.

SatW Denmark coughed. "Basically, the chances of you having a baby with a dog or a horse or a unicorn are slight to none – which is good, because we don't want mutant half-puppies or half-colts or half-fillies running – or galloping – all over the place –"

"Where did centaurs come from, then?" Princie Fraser demanded.

"Magic," SatW Denmark replied with a straight face.

"Centaurs come from Greek Mythology, where the Greek gods fucked over the laws of biology as they saw fit," Elisabeta pointed out. "Leda had kids with Zeus while he was in swan form, after all."

"It's a good thing that we can't pr'create with an'mals," Berwald agreed. "The pr'blem comes when humans and Nations meet and – acc'rding to your fanfics – attempt to mate."

"Nations and humans are meant to be different. It's really a fact of life, people," SatW Denmark drawled. "We look like you, sure, and we might have the same reproductive equipment and the same number of chromosomes, but when is the last time some chick got pregnant by the entire United States of America?"

Pause. "See, Nations and humans are pretty much different species, although highly alike and sexually compatible. But the key word there is 'sexually'," Elisabeta explained. "Humans and Nations might be able to have sex with each other – but it's probably not going to happen, fangirls, so belt up – but they would not be able to produce viable offspring. You can't be half a country."

"Interbreeding does not exist in Hetalia. Humans mate with humans to make human babies. Nations mate with Nations to produce new Nations, although nowadays that rarely happens. Nations and humans may have liaisons – probably the most famous being the one between Queen Elizabeth I and England – but there will be no children as evidence. So your half-Nation baby does not exist and will never exist no matter how hard you pray or wish on shooting stars."

"It may not even be a case of g'netic inc'mpatibility here." Berwald changed the slide. "It could be b'cause the notion that you can have a half-Nation is r'diculous. We may be p'rsonifications, but we are not human."

"Well said." Tino changed the slide once more. "Karkat, tell us why you cannot have kids with Trolls."

"WELL, IN CASE ALL OF YOU DUMBSHITS FORGOT, WE TROLLS ARE FAR SUPERIOR TO HUMANS AND HUMANOID NATIONS AND THEREFORE COME WITH COMPLETELY DIFFERENT REPRODUCTIVE MACHINERY. SO GO AHEAD AND SUCK ON THAT –"

"Oh Karkat, I'd love to!" Morgan LeFine exclaimed. "Well, actually, I think John and Terezi would love t – OW!"

One of Karkat's Mochi bodyguards, a fine fellow named Luvino, had just knocked her into her seat and proceeded to gag her. Matera muttered something about Morgan deserving it. Karkat snickered.

"SO REALLY, WHEN YOU'RE TALKING SPECIATION YOU'RE REALLY KINDA REFERRING TO US. SO, THIS IS WHY YOU CAN'T HAVE A FUCKING HALF-TROLL BABY. SEE, WE'RE FUCKING REPRODUCTIVELY ISOLATED HERE. YOU'RE ON FUCKING EARTH, WHICH WE MADE, AND WE'RE FAR AWAY IN MOTHERFUCKING ALTERNIA. WE'RE ALIENS."

"Oh, you're an alien! Your touch is foreign! It's supernatural! Extraterrestrial –" Jack Ochoa had started singing, but Boris quickly bit his arm to make him shut up. "OW! FUCKING BADGER!"

"I don't give a shit," Boris replied, smirking. "Carry on."

"Karkat mentioned something about reproductive isolation," Elisabeta pointed out as Berwald changed the slide again. "This is an extremely good point."

"WHY THANK YOU. I AM EXTREMELY GOOD AT MAKING GOOD POINTS."

"Sure, sure. Anyway, there are several barriers between various species that may look like they're able to reproduce, like trolls and humans –"

"FOR SOME STRANGE REASON," snickered Karkat.

"The ones that happen before fertilisation are called 'prezygotic barriers'; the ones that happen after are 'postzygotic barriers'," Tino continued. "For example, between Nations and humans there are no known prezygotic barriers –"

"What's a prezy-whatever? Is it like… height differences or something?" Estellantalia Serafianta Stonnolaso-Jones demanded, probably already trying to gauge the differences between Alfred F. Jones and a demon.

"Partly. But height generally isn't a barrier between members of the same species, right?"

"Well, Hagrid –"

"We are not discussing half-Giants, quarter-Veelas, or any of that other stuff right now. I'm pretty sure there's magic involved in that. Please." Elisabeta rubbed her temples. "Height between two members of the same species is generally not a problem. If you're in love with a six-foot-four person and you're a legal midget, you should still be able to have children with that person. And chances are, if you are a legal midget, you would want to procreate with someone tall to give your kids the chance to be tall. But that's not what we're talking about, either. See, prezygotic barriers are factors that prevent members of two species from meeting or mating successfully. It could also be something that hinders sperm from reaching egg."

"The first barrier," explained Berwald as Tino changed the slide for him, "is h'bitat isolation."

"Land-dwwellers vversus sea-dwwellers," added Eridan, smirking.

"That could be one point. A snake that lives on land will rarely encounter a snake that lives in water."

"But what about the little mermaid –" Jennifer Lalonde whined.

"MAGIC. WE'RE DISCUSSING MOTHERFUCKING SCIENCE HERE," Karkat snapped.

"Next barrier," continued Berwald as if no one had interrupted, "is t'mporal isolation."

"Skunks that breed in spring will not encounter skunks that breed in fall. Well, they could physically encounter them and stink the shit out of them, but their sperm and egg will not meet."

Peter sniggered. Ah, he'd nearly forgotten why he loved Elisabeta so.

* * *

><p>R'lyeh rolled out of bed at the alarm, resisting the urge to draw a gun and shoot the damn alarm clock. That moment when he detonated that huge-ass nuke last time around was fucking glorious, even if he didn't really feel like doing it again.<p>

Actually, he did feel like doing it again, except he reckoned that Jennifer might get mad at him.

Pff. Evil answered to no one, not even mildly-attractive human females with glasses.

R'lyeh looked over at his roommate, who was still snoring soundly like the first time around. He grabbed the calendar, dressed as quickly as he could, and raced out of the dormitories to the main building.

Jennifer was waiting for him once again outside the cafeteria, and the expression on her face made him falter. He stopped in front of her, just out of arm's reach, and looked at her quizzically.

"Greetings, Earthling?" he asked, smiling weakly.

"Found you." Jennifer did not look amused.

"Yes, you have found me. Am I 'it' now?"

"Why did you stray last time when we were in the Staff Section? You nuked the school, didn't you?"

"Well, I did give you fair warning." R'lyeh shrugged.

"You are a magnificent bastard." Jennifer crossed her arms.

R'lyeh felt his heart sink slightly. "Well, it is a time loop. No one's affected. We're still standing, aren't we?"

"Yes, but what does that say about your attitude towards my school? It shows that you don't respect it? We've housed you and fed you and you –"

"Since when does this school belong to you?"

"IAHF is my _home_," snapped Jennifer. "You wouldn't like it if I bombed your little island, would you?"

"There is no need to pin guilt on anyone in a timeline where all of our actions are meaningless." R'lyeh crossed his arms as well. "I promise that I will not stray this time."

Jennifer said nothing, only turning about and leading the way to the Staff Section. R'lyeh followed, feeling uncomfortable in the silence. He could almost hear the awkward turtles and smell the strawberries of unresolved sexual tension.

They entered the Staff Section without incident, the silence growing between them. Jennifer headed right for Mr. Allen's office, throwing looks over her shoulder to make sure R'lyeh was following. He stuck with her, feeling uncomfortable and too nervous to wander. Oh, the state of evil was pitiful indeed, when the silence of a girl was enough to keep it in line! He should be ashamed of himself!

"So, do you know about Alfred's collection?" he asked awkwardly. Jennifer turned and looked at him, her eyebrows raised and disappearing into her hairline. "What? It is quite a formidable collection. I am impressed – and believe me, it takes a lot to impress me –"

"He only has just about every edition of every comic of every super hero ever printed," Jennifer remarked. "Not a bad collection. Not that I've ever read it. He wouldn't dream of letting my greasy fangirl fingers touch those mint condition pages. I bet he wears gloves when handling them."

R'lyeh snickered. The atmosphere lightened somewhat, until they opened the door to Mr. Allen's office and beheld the grandmother of all messes.

"Even I am not as disorderly as this," R'lyeh mumbled. "It will take us eons to find the information!"

"Somehow, I think it's part of the plan." Jennifer's eyes narrowed.

* * *

><p>Ema leaned back in the rocking chair, groaning. Emma was playing on her mat that made all the funny noises whenever different letters or shapes or numbers were pressed. She seemed very preoccupied with the order that she pressed the letters, but Ema paid no heed. Mozart was playing; it had been playing for forty-seven minutes already.<p>

"Do you want me to read you a book?" Ema asked, yawning. Emma looked at her quizzically. Even after a week of babysitting Mr. Hugh's daughter seemed as unwelcome as ever. She was obliging enough when it came time for food and diaper changing, but when left to play she seemed lost in her own world. Ema vaguely wondered if this was the reason Mr. Hugh let others babysit his child for him.

"What are you doing?" Ema asked again. Emma looked up from her spelling. Ema listened.

_T-H-E-E-L-L-E-T-H-S-C-L-O-N-E-I-S-A-L-I-V-E. _

"Do you want to draw something, Emma?" Ema asked, writing down the letters as Emma spelt them out. Emma paid her no heed, pressing more letters with a little frown on her face.

_B-E-W-A-R-E-Y-O-U-R-D-R-E-A-M-S._

Ema looked at what she wrote. Her face paled. "Emma, what are you doing?"

Emma looked up at her. "Dadda. Note for Dadda," she replied calmly. "Emma warn dadda."

"But your father's not here right now."

"Emma take note to dadda." Emma crawled over to the rocking chair. "Emma note. Emma take to dadda."

"You want to get this to your father?" Ema looked at her writing. "I'll have to take you. Don't you think your father will be mad?"

"Dadda no sleep. Emma know why." Emma frowned and poked the paper. "Lady tell Emma. Lady tell Emma to tell Dadda."

"Who is this lady?" Ema asked quietly, feeling very disconcerted and slightly disturbed. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Sconey, Wizard Arthur's pet, listening in. She thought about shooing it away. She didn't.

Emma pursed her lips and looked very thoughtful for a minute or so. Mozart still played on behind her. Finally, she said her first word, a simple word that most babies would be able to grasp because they knew it well.

"Mama."


	34. Brutal Grammar and Dumb Blondes

**Part IX**

_Lilith smirked. Mr. Hugh watched her warily as she approached._

"_Long time… no see," she murmured, her voice a seductive purr. "Missed you."_

"_You and every other Mary Sue," complained Mr. Hugh. "Go bother Allen for a change."_

"_Where's the fun in that?" scoffed Lilith. "You're harder to get. More sexually repressed. Besides, the Factory's passed some declaration naming you as Undesirable Lover Number One. You must be so _proud_."_

_Hatred rose in him like bile. "Fuck you," Mr. Hugh snarled, straining against invisible bonds. Unfortunately, diplomatic training did not include body building, and he could only resist for so long before he slumped, sapped of energy for the moment._

_Lilith's grin shone like a row of metal spikes. "Gladly," she murmured. A knife flashed. "Your place or mine?" she whispered into Mr. Hugh's ear before plunging the knife into his chest. Mr. Hugh cried out in pain – was this a dream or reality? The pain was acute, realistic – and yet Lilith was supposed to be dead –_

"Dadda! Dadda!"

Mr. Hugh's eyes flew open. He had dozed off at his desk again. Emma was tugging his trouser leg, wailing 'dadda' petulantly. At the doorway, Ema stood helplessly.

"Emma! What –" he demanded, looking over at Ema as if demanding an explanation. Emma pushed a piece of paper into his hands.

Mr. Hugh read the paper, expression flitting from confusion to fear. "Who… who told you?"

Emma pulled herself up on shaky legs and pointed to a picture at the bottom of the paper. It was of a girl with dark hair and green eyes.

"Mama," she said simply "Mama tell Emma to tell Dadda."

Mr. Hugh buried his sobs in his daughter's dark hair.

* * *

><p>Jennifer and R'lyeh searched Mr. Allen's fossil dig of an office for the rest of the morning, but unearthed nothing significant. No matter how many layers they dug through, they could not find any evidence of the missing link.<p>

Palaeontology puns aside, Jennifer had declared them on lunch break when she trooped off to answer nature's call and to steal some food from the dining hall. R'lyeh was not allowed out of the office. He had grudgingly complied, not wanting to piss her off more than he already had. Even the Old Ones knew no fury greater than a PMSing female.

R'lyeh took a seat in Mr. Allen's chair and looked around him. The room, while extraordinarily messy, still had a certain charm about it. Probably something to do with the modern-looking furniture and the Andy Warhol prints on the walls. No doubt his other half, Mr. Hugh, had an office that was the exact opposite yet just as messy. R'lyeh snickered at the thought.

He rifled through the drawers of the sleek brushed-chrome desk, wondering what Mr. Allen kept in the drawers. Naturally, there were the usual odds and ends that one might expect in a desk – staples, paper clips, pens, pencils. Mr. Allen had an impressive array of red pens, as well as stress balls.

But something else caught R'lyeh's eye. It was something akin to a graphing calculator, only he had a feeling that the device did not make graphs. He pressed some of the buttons, brows furrowing.

Now, R'lyeh may not have known, but he had just stumbled upon a Remote Activator (or at least, a time loop copy of one). IAHF, along with other Official Fanfiction Universities and the Protectors of the Plot Continuum Headquarters, functioned on PPC portal technology which stabilised plot holes for travel through fanfiction, Canon, and almost anywhere else. Travel into the PPC was difficult without PPC technology, but since the Portal Generators and Remote Activators used at IAHF were created by the PPC, that was not much of an issue.

R'lyeh had typed in "MSFHEAD4V30245" into the Remote Activator. He pressed the big shiny red button. A giant blue window appeared in front of him; a message flashed on the readout.

_We are not able to create a real portal since we are only a copy of the actual device. Uncle Creepy is watching you. So are the garden gnomes – they see you when you're sleeping; they know when you're awake –_

"I only needed to know the first sentence," R'lyeh grumbled, but he peered through the blue window nonetheless.

A girl with blonde hair sat in the horrifyingly wilver room on the other side of the window. She was plucking petals from a flower mumbling "he loves me" and "he loves me not" in alternate succession. She reminded him of Juliet from that modern remake of Shakespeare's play. That film had been ludicrous and over-the-top and he had much preferred _Moulin Rouge_. Not that he liked sappy love stories about prostitutes, no…

But back to the observations. The girl looked up from her flower and seemed to have noticed him. She got up and walked closer.

"Hello?" she asked. "Are you my Romeo?"

"But soft! What light through yonder window breaks?" R'lyeh retorted sarcastically. "Who are you?"

"I'm Julietta! Julietta Shakespeare Vargas!" She spun around in a circle, batting her eyelashes. "Oh, do tell me where you are, my dear Romeo! I will come to you!"

R'lyeh's eyebrows shot up into his hairline. "Halt those thoughts. I am not your Romeo. What made you think that?"

"You…" Julietta tilted her head to the side. "But you said his lines…"

"Those lines are common knowledge. Every fool ought to know them," R'lyeh replied, crossing his arms. "Where are you?" Julietta really did look familiar somehow. Wasn't she one of those girls who had been there when he and Jennifer got captured? And speaking of which, Jennifer really was taking a long time doing whatever she had to do.

"Oh, I can't say. But you should know if you called up this window! It's nice to talk to you. You're very kind!"

Kind? The girl must be insane. Maybe she had Daisy Buchanan Syndrome! He needed to work on that acronym. DBS didn't really roll off the tongue as well as other acronyms he knew, and it could be confused for other things. Like the Department of Bad Slash. Not that he knew what that was, of course.

"I'm honoured," he deadpanned. "So. What exactly are you doing? From what I can tell, you are one of the… Mary Sues… who took me and Miss Chang… er, prisoner. Why us?"

"I dunno." Julietta pursed her lips. "It was all Alicia's idea. I was just along for the ride, you know? And right now Alicia is yelling at Venezia or something; I don't know. But she'll be so mad if she sees me talking to you!"

"No matter." R'lyeh waved his hand. "I only feel a bit disconcerted at having to repeat… what was the human holiday? Chris Moose?"

"Christmas?" Julietta asked innocently.

"Yes, Christmas. Having to repeat it over and over. It's quite frustrating. Why do you need the time machine?"

"Oh, it's very magical and it'll make our dreams come true!" Julietta sounded only a centimetre away from being a Disney Princess. R'lyeh half expected her to burst into song and shit rainbows.

"And how does it do that?"

"I don't know. They just said I'd get Romeo if I helped them get the machine."

Oh, the classic ignorant follower. R'lyeh tried his hardest not to laugh at her. "So you have no idea how they will make your dreams a reality, and yet you blindly trust that they will."

"They're my friends. I'm the stupid dumb blonde of the group."

"That is a bit unfortunate." R'lyeh really had no suitable comeback to that. He frowned. "You should not think of yourself that way."

"It's a fact of life. I'm a classic Mary Sue. They're always dumb blondes."

"If you acknowledge that you are dumb, then you also acknowledge that you are probably being fooled by your friends. We here have no choice but to do your Alicia's bidding, but you have a choice." Oh, there he goes, spewing goody-two-shoes bullshit at her. Evil was indeed in a pitiful state that day.

R'lyeh paused. Wasn't he supposed to be immune to Aura of Smooth? He frowned slightly. "You are not using that infernal Aura, are you?" he asked hesitantly. "This does not sound like something I usually say."

"I don't think so…" Julietta frowned. "I wish I could help you. I don't know where the thing is, though."

"It's not this, correct?" R'lyeh waved the Remote Activator.

Julietta screamed like a Vampire being confronted by a crucifix. R'lyeh nearly dropped the Remote Activator. "I guess not?"

"That's a portal thingy from the PPC! They're evil!" she whispered. "What's that – oh, right."

"What?" R'lyeh frowned. From far away, he could hear footsteps. Someone was coming. "What are you talking about? Why is the PPC evil?"

"They kill people like me! Mary Sues." Julietta trembled. "Get it out of my sight, please! Don't kill me!"

"I am far away from you. And besides, I need to depart. Fare thee well." R'lyeh pressed the button again, closing the window.

Jennifer entered the room. "Oh, I thought you would have died of boredom," she remarked. "Or buried yourself in the sediment." She gestured vaguely to the piles of papers and other odds and ends. "Shall we continue?"

"We shall." R'lyeh pocketed the Remote Activator and dug into another set of papers.

* * *

><p>The Nerd Group applications came around once again on Tuesday, right after a brutal GrammarBootCamp session in the freezing cold. It snowed in the stadium, sure, but that did not deter Ludwig. Few things deterred him when it came to brutalising fanbrats with grammar.<p>

"My legs hurt!" whined Ursula as they trudged into the cafeteria.

"Shut it, you ran fewer laps than us!" Lila snapped.

"But they still hurt! Pity me!"

"Pity me more, desu yo!" Kira curled up in a ball at their table, whimpering. "I'll never use a comma splice ever again, yo!"

Peter was simply too tired to complain. He hadn't run as many laps as Kira, but he was woefully unfit to run his laps in such cold weather. He could almost feel the grandmother of all colds coming on.

"Nerd Group applications!" Brigid Hughes came over to their table with a steaming bowl of porridge (the dinner food fight was Pandaburger versus RoChu), grinning. "I thought you guys would want to know! Especially Ursula."

"Oh, of course. It'll be a cakewalk," sniffed Ursula. "Where is the sign-up?"

"Australian table. Nerd Group hangout; what else did you expect?" Brigid grinned. "I hope we get to debate together!"

"Debate?" Peter echoed, until he remembered what Stan had said about the entry requirements. "Oh damn, I don't know if I can get in…" Kiku had pop quizzed them on their first day back in his Japanese class yesterday. Peter had failed spectacularly, seeing that he had not been in class for the majority of last semester.

Lila rolled her eyes. "I'm sure after we lock you in a room with a bunch of SAT textbooks you'll be able to," she replied drily. "Let's go sign up."

They walked over to the Australia table – at least, all of them except Kira, who was still whimpering. The Nerds were sitting in a circle; Erika Verena von Richtofen-Marlowe was reading something from a clipboard. There came a sudden cheer. Lila demanded what was going on as Ursula filled out the sign-up sheets.

"Elections for Prez," George Rowland explained as he, too, filled out the sheets. "According to Erika, the leadership position is the Prez, and they're counting the ballots now."

"Fascinating stuff," agreed Erich von Richtofen-Marlowe, Erika's brother. "I think there's a tie."

"Are they doing a tiebreaker?" Brigid had pushed her way back to the table. "Who's tied?"

"My sister and Fayane Tyme," Erich replied cheerily.

It so turned out, then, that Erika and Fayane decided to form a coalition government – or at least, share the position of Prez of Nerd Group. After all, division within intellectuals may often spark debate, but division into two camps over something like nominating leaders for a school club was simply frivolous. None of the Nerds wanted to disintegrate into rival factions like in the American two-party system. Nothing would get done that way.

After signing up, the Oddballs returned to their breakfast. "So, I suppose we're locking Peter in a room with SAT books now?" Ursula asked. Peter paled at the prospect.

"We'll do it as a last resort," Lila reasoned. "In the meantime, let's check off the books on this list that we've read."

Peter looked over at the reading list. His stomach plummeted. Fuck. He might as well go lock himself into a room with those books, because he was more doomed than Faye Markus in an art school.


	35. Anima and Animus

**Part X**

"The anima and the animus, according to Carl Jung, are considered the two archetypes of the mind and the symbol set that becomes the Self. The anima is the inner female of the male, and the animus is the inner male of the female. The anima and animus are said to appear in dreams and influence actions towards the opposite sex."

Boris yawned and leaned against Alexis, who was avidly taking notes. It was Thursday, the first class of Platonic Love for the new students, and Policeman Arthur and Aviator Alfred had gone right into the psychology of writing about love. Most students looked ridiculously lost.

"In writing, usually the author's ideal love interest is their animus or anima. Positive and negative animus and animas reflect on their love interest's personality and actions. Most are mixtures of both, and most writers do not use purely negative or purely positive ideals."

"This has nothing to do with platonic love," yawned Tiare Kealoha. "Can we get some making out over here?"

Policeman Arthur deliberately ignored her. "The animus represents masculine ideals – assertiveness, thoughtfulness, power, bravery – as well as masculine negativities – destructiveness, brutality, recklessness, coldness. Same with the anima. The anima represents feminine ideals – patience, compassion, love, intuition – as well as feminine negativities – uncertainty, vanity, insecurity, hypersensitivity. Both genders can have both versions of the anima and the animus."

"Yeah, here's where it gets important," continued Aviator Alfred. "You know what we call chemistry between two people? It's the need for and recognition of your "other half", or the attraction between the anima and animus in men and women. Characters have to be attracted to love interests for reasons. They have to complete each other in some way."

"This is why Suefics don't make for good romance for anyone other than the author," agreed Policeman Arthur. "The Mary Sue is designed on a reflection, the reflection of the perfect man or woman. They will only resound with their creator, and leave everyone else searching for elusive, possibly nonexistent chemistry."

"What about unrequited love?" sighed Ookami Mangetsu.

"That is when your other half may satisfy your needs, but you cannot satisfy theirs." Policeman Arthur shrugged. "Tough luck. This also explains those relationships where someone has tunnel vision for one person while their potential soulmate slips under the radar."

"Oh man, those are the worst," snickered Aviator Alfred. "I once knew this gal who liked this one guy while her best friend was pining over her –"

"That was basically the plot of every other romance novel ever written," Policeman Arthur deadpanned. "Anyway. These concepts generally do not apply to same-sex relationships, but modern theorists have come up with the archetype of the Double, which draws people into relationships with others of the same gender. This could be platonically or romantically. In straight people, the Double is responsible for same-sex friendships and familial relationships and the anima and animus take care of opposite-sex mates. In LGBTQI people, the Double takes care of mates as well as everything else."

Alexis looked at Boris, who was sleeping. She nudged him. A row away, Jack Ochoa was doodling penises all over his notes. Little Mio Garcia was trying to take notes but looked extremely confused. Students who had laptops, like Maiya Carver and George Rowland, were typing notes on them. Some were trying to access Facebook and Tumblr as well, only to get blocked. Mr. Allen had made sure that the students would not be allowed to social network during class.

"Okay, so now you've got your other half," Aviator Alfred continued, drawing a triangle on the whiteboard, "what do you do after that?"

"Well, there are many different types of love," reasoned Policeman Arthur. "Our class focuses on companionate love and friendship, but today and for the next couple of classes we will discuss the other types of love as well."

Aviator Alfred started writing. "Right, so at each end of this Love Triangle we have the essential parts of love: intimacy, passion, and commitment."

"Intimacy alone is simply friendship. Passion alone is simply infatuation. Commitment alone is simply empty love. And Alfred, you need to write neater."

"Not my fault I have serial killer handwriting."

"I'll write, then." Policeman Arthur glared at him and grabbed the marker. "Between intimacy and passion is romantic love. Between intimacy and commitment is companionate love, or bromance. Between passion and commitment is fatuous love."

"What's that?" asked Tamantha Smith.

"It's a whirlwind romance without intimacy." Aviator Alfred shrugged. "Now, it's pretty granted that in any given population, love in its many forms is bound to crop up sooner or later. Attractions usually begin with passion, where someone likes someone else because there's something about them that just 'sparks things', you know what I mean?"

"Quick. Does anyone want to confess any crushes?" Policeman Arthur suggested. "Not on Staff members – we all know that's just infatuation.

Samantha Marie Pappas seemed to be holding in her giggles as she raised her hand. "I like this German guy…" she trailed off, eyes darting over to Erich von Richtofen-Marlowe. "He's not Ludwig, I swear!" Her face flushed.

"Really? And what is it about this boy that 'does it' for you?" Aviator Alfred looked amused.

Samantha hid her face in her hands. "He's in suits all the time! And he's very refined. I think he's very cute."

George Rowland nudged Erich, who looked disinterested as per usual. Either he was a very good actor or very oblivious.

"There we go. It seems that Miss Pappas's animus may be German and refined. Perhaps there's more to it. But if she meets the boy and realises that he isn't what she expected, then the spark would die quickly." Policeman Arthur nodded. "I'm sure all of you have a list of standards in your head about your ideal mate. That would be your animus or anima. Your attraction to someone else is your attraction to parts of your anima or animus being projected onto them."

"Yeah! And while Disney blabs all the time about true love, they really make it look like passion is the only thing that counts, doesn't it?" Aviator Alfred hopped onto the teacher's desk and grinned. "True love combines all three elements of the Love Triangle. Passion, intimacy, and commitment are all required for true love, making it the most perfect, consummate love there is. But we're not True Love 101; we're Platonic Love 101. We're basically about two out of three of the Love Triangle – intimacy and commitment. Don't think of intimacy as sex and stuff, all right? That falls with passion. Intimacy is friendship. Closeness. That sorta thing."

"Not a bad speech, Al." Policeman Arthur leaned against the podium. "Why don't we take out our textbooks now and review what we've just gone over…"

* * *

><p>At lunchtime, Anita Khok (who was leaving that afternoon with Lucia Verdas) gave Merka some news.<p>

"Megan's applying for the Russia position?" Merka turned to Charlie, disbelief etched all over her face.

Charlie nodded, grinning wickedly. Taylor smirked as well. Franklin was reading his book at the table, oblivious to the rest of the world.

Farther down, Karkat and SatW Denmark were engaged in a heated debate over who was the worse asshole. SatW Norway was mourning Albin as much as John Egbert was mourning his grandmother, who apparently had been blown up by her own mail. Rose Lalonde was knitting. Jade Harley and Dave Strider were talking to SatW Sweden and SatW England.

"First crossover class this afternoon!" Wizard Arthur bounced into the room. "I'm excited for this, really!" He was tailed by the Magic Trio; they sat down with SatW Romania at the table.

"Oh great. Watch the school blow up with all of these crossovers," groaned Nataliya Arlovskaya, who was sitting next to Ivan as per usual. Charlie nervously watched her sharpen her knife at her seat for a couple more minutes before directing his attention back to Merka.

"What? Oh, yeah. Yeah! Megsie-wegsie's going for the spot of Russia! Hope she gets in?"

"Man, I dunno if she can be evil enough…" Merka pouted. "After all, the Russia position has a lot of…"

"I think Megan will handle discipline monitoring splendidly." Taylor snickered. "She might even introduce some new ideas –"

"My god, Taylor, this is not a hentai sex academy," Kriss deadpanned from Merka's other side.

"Well, you know there's a school in Austria that's dedicated to sex…"

"Yeah, probably to feed the Hungarian chief export." Charlie cackled. "But hey. If Megsies can show that she's absolutely heartless, she could totally make it. I mean…"

"Loki wasn't that evil," Merka pointed out, shrugging.

"Is it because she spent most of her Venice time making out with Lucifer Morningstar in dark alleys?"

"Possibly. I mean if she was heartless she wouldn't have fallen –"

"Oh, come on. You think she liked him? Hated his guts. What was the Homestuck term for it? Kismesis? Passionate hate sex." Charlie beamed. "Megsies should do very well, then."

Megan chose that moment to enter the room. "All right, all right. So who told everyone that I was applying?"

"Oh come on, it's only an open application," Anita rolled her eyes. "You saw Lucia, yeah?"

"Yup, we said our byes and all. You going to see Kitty again?" Megan winked. Anita swatted her.

"Don't be daft. I wouldn't know how to find her in the PPC even if you tattooed a map under my eyelids."

"Oh, wow. You've really grown a pair since I last saw you. So proud, baby. So proud."

Anita rolled her eyes as Megan took a seat at the table. "Why would I grow a pair? I mean –"

"Balls aren't very strong, are they?" Sister Sweden walked past, smirking at them. She looked as if Rose Lalonde had suddenly sprouted double D-cup breasts and Angelina Jolie-caliber lips. "It's obviously better to grow a pussy. Those things really take a pounding –"

"Woah, woah. Too much information." Alfred had overheard that. "Think of the children, bro!"

"These children are products of your school. I highly doubt their minds are untainted." Sister Sweden giggled and took her seat.

"And Megan's is the dirtiest of them all," Charlie whispered. Megan laughed.

* * *

><p>Julietta sat in the room, idly twirling a strand of hair around her finger. The screen was blank. It had been blank for the past few days, the past few cycles. Had the boy forgotten her?<p>

Even as she thought that, the screen flickered to life. There was the boy, sitting on a table in the cafeteria. Much to Julietta's horror, there were corpses all over the ground.

"What is that?" she demanded. The boy looked around him carelessly.

"What?"

"The bodies! What happened?"

"Target practice." The boy shrugged. "They have a superb arsenal over here. Plenty of high-quality human firepower. The souls of the dead make my stomach happy."

Julietta's mouth dropped open. "_You_ killed them?"

"Hey, they will be revived tomorrow." The boy shrugged again. "And there are only two survivors of this carnage." He gestured to the honey badger and the Spock-like girl in the corner. "Sad to say, I am not _that_ heartless."

"Did you kill the girl Alicia captured?"

"Her? Oh, she is absent. In the library, you know. Books and things. You've probably never heard of them."

"I'm literate, thanks!" Julietta was highly affronted by that.

"No, really, books you've never read." The boy paused. "How have things been on your end?"

"Alicia doesn't know anything. Neither does Francesca. And Venezia's doing her desk job." Julietta wrinkled her nose. "She got demoted," she added in a whisper, as if it was some terrible secret.

"Demoted?"

"Yeah, Angelle got really pissed at her! And you know what? I'll tell you a secret!"

"Secrets? Oh, how delightful. Do tell." The boy leaned in closer. Julietta noticed that his eyes were very much like stormy seas. How romantic! She giggled.

"Angelle's crazy!" she whispered.

"Who is this Angelle of which you speak?"

"She's Lilith's successor. You see, we used to have this leader named Lilith who got killed trying to attack your school. Angelle took her place, because Lilith trained her to do so. I dunno what that training's about. Some of the others say it's got a lot of mental communication stuff."

"Telepathy? Dream communication?" the boy paused. "Is your Lilith a Great Old One?"

"Well, she's great and she was immortal and stuff…"

"Dream communication." The boy frowned. "Do you know if she ever had any alternate forms or anything?"

"No, she's an elf. She's always been. And it's one of those pretty _Lord of the Rings_ elves, not Santa's workers."

"I see." The boy appeared lost in thought. "I'll have to go now. Next time we talk, I would like to hear more about this Lilith and her successor."

"Okay!" Julietta grinned. The screen flicked off just as Alicia entered.

"Who were you talking to?" the other Mary Sue demanded.

"No one!" Julietta exclaimed.

"No one? I heard voices. You were talking to someone at least." Alicia advanced towards her, hand raised as if to strike her. Julietta recoiled.

"I was talking to Romeo!" she cried. "Just Romeo! And we're going to escape on a unicorn and fly to Sparkle Magic Lollipop Land and live happily ever after in a cotton candy castle!"

Alicia's brows scrunched together. She lowered her hand and glared.

"I'll give you the benefit of the doubt this time," she growled. "Next time, don't consider yourself so lucky."

With that, she left the room again.


	36. Acidic Butterflies

**Part XI**

Peter wanted to throw his essay across the library. How was he supposed to know what happened in Blender Crossovers? He'd never written one before! And they didn't explain it very well! Just blabbed about stuff about Belgium possibly being Rose and Nations being Scratched Trolls or whatever the fuck that was. He was probably never going to understand Homestuck. Never.

"Calm down," Lila said quietly next to him, not even looking up from her own essay. Peter realised that he had said his thoughts out loud. To say he felt dumb would be like saying that R'lyeh had gotten just a _little_ trigger-happy.

"I just don't get it," he complained. "Wakarimasen –"

Lila coughed.

"Gomen nasai –"

"Peter –"

"Sorry! It just slips! And then –"

Lila looked at him from over her glasses, her expression serious. "Pete, I'm glad you take language class so seriously, but you sound undeniably like a weaboo. Shut up."

Hurt, Peter turned his attention back to his essay. Lila patted him on the back.

"What is it that you don't understand about this, then?"

"Blender Crossovers. I just don't get them. Really. How does someone become someone else, and –"

"It's just suggesting that one or more of the characters have an alternate identity in a different fandom. Gandalf and Dumbledore, for example, can easily be misconstrued to be the same person. In that same vein, maybe Belgium is secretly Rose Lalonde, or maybe the Nations are the Trolls in human form… these sorts of ideas."

"I don't think all of them suck," added Kagaya from across the table. "Just most of them, you know? Sometimes they only go by appearance and not personality, which really sucks because Elisabeta and Hermione are such opposites."

"Wasn't there a Harry Potter crossover where Roderich possessed Harry or something?" Ursula demanded as she walked back to their table and unloaded a pile of books. Kira took the topmost one.

"The Kama Sutra, desu yo? What class do you need that for?" Ursula snatched the book from the half-panda, her face flushing fire engine red.

"Research, dumbass! Not that_ you've_ ever done something like that –"

"Are you writing a romance, yo?" Kira's eyes twinkled wickedly. "Does England have a part in it?"

"Fuck no! Ew, Arthur's a disgustingly whiny uke," sniffed Ursula, crinkling her nose. "It's really none of your business what I'm writing –"

Peter and Lila grinned. "If it's not about England, then who is it about?" Peter asked.

Ursula bristled and rounded on him. "Not you two, too! I said it's none of your business! Goddamn it, you lot are so…" she trailed off, stuck her nose in the air, and stalked off to another table with her books. Boris and Alexis were at that table doing their Platonic Love homework. Boris stuck his tongue out at Ursula.

"Do you think she's lying?" Lila whispered. "Hiding something?"

"Ooh, is she in love, yo?" Kira asked eagerly.

"Who'd like Ursula?" scoffed Kagaya.

"We're not sure if that person likes her back, if there's a person at all." Lila sniggered. "Do you think it's the Lovecraftian –?"

Peter shook his head. "Oh come on, he's been missing for a week already."

"Yeah, but what if she _misses_ him?" Lila made an insinuating face. "I mean come on. He's evil, and she's a bitch. It's a match made at Lucas Arch's house."

"How is he evil? From all we saw of him he just acted like a total jackass –"

"I'm telling you, if you gave him a nuke he would have used it." Lila nodded. "It's just one of those things, you know?"

"Stan South said he heard from Jack Ochoa that he once punched someone in the stomach so hard that the other guy threw up." Peter shrugged. "I wouldn't know if that's really _evil_, per se, but I get what you mean. He does seem as if he's only being polite because he'd get in trouble for murder."

"Wonder where he went."

They fell back into silence. After a moment, Lila looked up from her essay again.

"Anyone else going to Open Mic Night? Starts in half an hour."

"Eh, I'm not done with my essay," Peter groaned.

"Aw, come on. You missed the last one, and the one before that, and –"

"I know. I'm a slow writer."

"Come on!" Lila pouted. "Kira, Kagaya, you two coming?"

"Sure!" Kira grinned. "Totally down with it, yo!"

"In a sec," Kagaya replied. "Lemme finish my conjugation tables for Italian."

* * *

><p>Emma dreamt of pretty colours. Pretty colours, pretty lights. Floating, falling, sparkling, shining – she sat in a room full of them.<p>

Emma dreamt of a field, a field full of flowers that were pretty and didn't make her sneeze. Mama stood at the other end. Michael Arch said that Mama was an Angel in Heaven now, whatever that was. She now had wings and dressed in white and sat around playing a harp. And stuff.

"Mama, I told Dadda!" Emma yelled as she ran across the dream-field to her mother, who wore lovely dream-asphodels in her hair. Mama held her close, burying her nose in her hair with a smile. It all felt very real somehow, even if Emma couldn't run or speak proper English yet.

"I know you did, my dear," Mama said. "Walk with Mama."

They set off back through the flowers; Emma picked a nosegay of dream-flowers. "Mama, can I ask you something?"

"Anything, love." Mama had a sad smile. Emma wasn't sure if her Mama would really smile like that, but Dadda always said that she was beautiful and that Emma had her hair, nose, and smile. And eyebrows, too, but that wasn't that much of a problem. Emma was more concerned about her Mama's voice, because she had never heard it.

"Mama, where are you?" she asked after a moment, clutching her bright bouquet in her chubby little hands.

"I am here," her mother replied calmly. "Wherever you want me to be, I will be."

"Will you be with me when I wake up?"

Mama paused. "In your mind, Emma love. I'll be there."

"Do you know what's wrong with Dadda?"

Mama looked off at the horizon of the dream-landscape, a wind blowing through her dark hair. "I don't know what exactly, but your father is in danger of losing his mind again."

"How does someone lose their mind, Mama?"

"Your father might go crazy."

"I don't want Dadda to go crazy."

Mama smiled, as if she knew something Emma didn't. "Love, Mama doesn't want him to be like that either."

"So how do we stop it?"

"I don't know, little one."

"Mama, you don't know a lot." Emma paused. "Sorry, Mama. I didn't mean to hurt you –"

"It's all right. Mama only knows as much as you know."

"And why is that?"

"Mama is here in your head." Mama smiled, tapping Emma's forehead. "Right here. That's how Mama –"

But before she could finish, Emma found herself trembling. The dream-world was shaking, shattering – Emma grabbed for her mother, but Mama flew away upwards –

"Emma!" Ema was gently nudging her awake. "Emma, time for a diaper change."

"Mama!" howled Emma, grabbing for her mother. "MAMAAAAAAAA –"

The door to the nursery banged open and Mr. Hugh stood there. "What exactly is going on?" he demanded, brandishing a copy of the _Bled Chronicles_. Emma howled louder. "Emma, darling, please! Shhh!"

"MAMAAAAAA! EMMA WANT MAMA!"

Ema was hyperventilating. "Emma, you need to have your diaper changed and we'll get you your bottle and –"

"I'll take care of that! You read this!" Mr. Hugh shoved the paper at Ema and grabbed his daughter, carrying her off making soothing noises. Ema looked at the headlines, which blared:

**A DEEPER SPLIT: COURSE COORDINATOR ALLEN CLARKE WANTS COLLEAGUE CHECKED INTO FICPSYCH**

_Course Coordinator Allen Clarke announced last Wednesday evening at the weekly Group of Eight meeting that he was trying to check his colleague Hugh Fraser into the Department of Fictional Psychology at the Protectors of the Plot Continuum Headquarters. Clarke cites mental instability and dream corruption as the reasons._

"_Hughie's never in his right mind. I guess that's what happens when you have Mary Sues lusting after you," Clarke says. "FicPsych will do him good. It's helped the teaching staff. I'm sure they'll help him, too."_

_Fraser, on the other hand, shrugs it off as mere nightmares and refuses to go in for therapy._

"_It's a sign of weakness. I won't stand for it," he says. "It's not hurting anyone, so why worry about it?"_

_The Department of Fictional Psychology specialises in treatment for characters that have undergone 'Sue-induced shell shock, or Sueshock. While Fraser may not be Sueshocked per se, he is exhibiting some of the symptoms of the disorder, the most prominent being nightmares._

"_His little girl somehow knows that he's having these bad dreams, because she's always spelling out messages for me to take to him," Babysitter Ema Skye says. "Can't tell you what's on them, but I can at least say it's scary stuff."_

_Scary stuff or not, this argument over Fraser's mental health is starting to drive a wedge between him and Clarke, moreso than the split personality they had before. Clarke may have ulterior motives and Fraser may truly be insane, but division at the top may trickle down to division throughout the school. _

"_I worry about him," Clarke says. "I worry about him a lot."_

"Wow, that was totally not a line pulled out of _It_," Ema deadpanned as she folded the paper back up. Mr. Hugh had situated Emma back in her crib again and was now feeding her.

"Allen does that. He's probably jealous in a way, but I don't see why. I'd trade spots with him in an instant." Mr. Hugh sighed. "Anyway, after this I ought to get back to work. I was going to show you the paper and then I heard Emma screaming, so…"

"She was dreaming again, I think."

"What sort?"

"I don't think she wanted to leave hers."

"Fair enough." Mr. Hugh shrugged as Emma drifted back into sleep, back into her sensations of colour and light.

* * *

><p><em>Beep, beep, beep, beep<em> –

R'lyeh smashed the alarm, glared at his roommate, drew a gun, and shot the calendar down from the wall. His roommate snored on. No sense in waking before the time loop dictated it, right? R'lyeh was tempted to poison him in his ear, but he had already done that a couple of cycles back. Nothing quite like murder to relieve the stress of finding information more elusive than Waldo and Carmen Sandiego put together.

He strode over and picked up the fallen calendar, stuffing it away in his messenger bag as he dressed. Walking into the bathroom, the Lovecraftian City's eyes fell on a bottle of cologne that obviously belonged to Jack.

He stole a little bit and dabbed it behind his neck.

"What's with that grin on your face? You're so cocky today," Jennifer noted minutes later as he entered with Boris and Alexis, the two going on ahead to the cafeteria. "You smell different, too. Did you use cologne?"

R'lyeh shrugged. "I have no idea how that happened, really; why would I willingly scent myself? I was simply washing my face when this giant bottle of cologne attacked me –"

"Sure, sure." Jennifer rolled her eyes.

"Are you mocking me?"

"Don't nuke me, bro!" Jennifer laughed. "Where are we going to look today?"

They walked towards the Staff Section. R'lyeh wondered if he should tell her about the Remote Activator, about Julietta and her possible usage as a spy on their behalf, about Lilith's possible nature. But knowing her, she would probably think that he was insane. Untrustworthy. He'd already bombed her school and killed the inhabitants. Even if their deaths in this time loop were meaningless, the fact that he was the killer would remain imprinted in her mind no matter what. She had every excuse not to forgive him for that, and part of him knew that the only thing preventing him from killing her was that without her he would have to repeat the loop an extra time.

Right, and that attraction thing.

Was that attraction? He doubted it and for the first time, he doubted himself. The mental jury was still out, and chances were they would be out for quite a while. He had forever to live; he might as well stay forever alone. And it wasn't as if she was too good for him – she could be good for him if he could just get the verdict, if he could just take a step –

"You seem unusually lost in thought." Jennifer frowned. "Not plotting another –"

"No, no." R'lyeh shook his head. "I'm just contemplating the thermonuclear power that I have. Not that I will do anything about it just yet. I like power."

"Sure." Jennifer half-smiled. R'lyeh felt a flutter in his stomach. Fucking acidic butterflies.

"Yes! Bow before my sudden thermonuclear might! Bow, I say!" If there was one thing he prided himself upon, it was his devastatingly evil laughter. Absolutely spine-chilling stuff.

Jennifer rolled her eyes, but good-naturedly obliged.

"Excellent! One down, over nine thousand to go!"

"Oh, you." Jennifer stalked on ahead, opening doors and peering in. She paused before the guest room that used to belong to Ernest Satow. "You know what? I suddenly remember something."

"What is it?" R'lyeh stopped at a respectable distance from her, crossing his arms.

"Over the summer, this couple came with a suitcase. They stayed for quite a while and got sent back with everyone else to Venice."

"Really. I've been to Venice before. Excellent feeding grounds –"

"How many gondoliers did you kill?"

"I forgot."

Jennifer stuck her tongue out at him. "Anyhoo, I think this could be a good place to start." She opened the door to Satow and Kane's room. "Go on."

As R'lyeh entered, he brushed past her slightly. His hand rested over hers for a second, and then he was gone. He could have sworn he heard a slight intake of breath from her part, or maybe it was the strawberries kicking in.

Stupid strawberries of unresolved sexual tension.

* * *

><p>"Seriously, Alfred? Seriously?" Arthur leaned back in his seat, crossing his arms and legs and shaking his head. "You're letting that idiot run for president?"<p>

"Well, he's got some good points," Alfred mumbled. "Christmas –"

"Oh please," Arthur laughed. "No one's attacking Christmas."

Alfred shrugged. "Personally I don't think he has my vote. Look at how much YouTube hates him."

"Who are we talking about? Rebecca Black?" Francis walked in with a platter of tiny cakes and macaroons. "Bon appétit, everyone!"

"Eurgh, you and your frog-food," Arthur sniffed, but he took a macaroon nonetheless.

"Aw, Artie, don't diss Francis's cooking! It's great stuff –"

"Says Mister Bottomless Stomach," harrumphed Arthur.

"Says Mister Ass-Flavoured Scones!"

"How would you know that's what the scones tasted like?" Francis asked innocently. Gilbert nearly spat out his beer.

Alfred turned bright red. "I meant donkey!"

"You've eaten that?"

"Well, there was this time during the Civil War…"

"_Oh s'il vous plaît_. Spare us the details." Francis rolled his eyes and mimed vomiting.

"Well it was disgusting." Alfred shrugged.

"Yeah, and the front lines of all other wars were picnics," Arthur deadpanned, shuddering slightly. Ludwig nodded in sympathy.

"Indeed. Although I still haven't forgotten the football."

"Oh come on. That was _so_ 1918." Arthur grabbed another macaroon. "Frogcis, why must you make rose-flavoured macaroons?"

"Because they taste delightful and romantic?"

"Oh shut up."

"You asked the question."

"Forget I did." Arthur sipped his tea. "Anyhow, back to Alfred's circus of a presidential election. I frankly cannot believe it."

"Not my fault." Alfred crossed his arms. "That video was so dumb it got its own Internet meme."

"I'll bet he takes our Canon seriously," chuckled Ludwig. Feliciano suddenly ran up to him, clutching a sprig of mistletoe.

"Luddy, look! I've found some mistletoe!"

"Christmas is over, Feliciano."

"Not over yet in Russia, I think," Toris Laurinaitis remarked from behind his copy of the _Bled Chronicles_.

"It was hanging all lonely in the corner, so I thought I'd take it and…" Feliciano raised it above Ludwig's head. "Use it!" He pecked the German on the cheek, but no sooner had he done that did the mistletoe explode in his hand, spraying Bled paint everywhere.

Ludwig coughed and averted his eyes. "Congratulations, Feliciano," he deadpanned, "you've discovered the last sprig of Bledstletoe. Now excuse me while I go find more turnips."


	37. Return of the Drama Llama

**Part XII**

"Emma!"

Emma sat on her mat, watching Ema doze in the rocking chair. She turned when she heard her name. Wizard Arthur stood in the doorway.

"Emma!" he whispered. Sconey, the sentient scone companion of the mad magician, leapt off his shoulder and scurried over to Emma. The little girl grinned and patted the scone. Wizard Arthur smiled.

"Dadda tell me no talk you," Emma babbled. "No talk. Emma no talk."

"You don't need to talk." Wizard Arthur smiled kindly, conjuring a sphere of light. "Look! Pretty lights!"

"Dream light!" Emma cried, reaching out for the light.

"Dream light, yes! Follow the dream light!"

Emma crawled out after the floating ball of light, followed by Sconey. Right before leaving, Wizard Arthur locked Ema in the nursery. Couldn't afford any distractions, nope.

Mr. Allen was sitting in his office, steeping his fingers together thoughtfully. Shinbun-kun sat in a corner, bouncing with excitement. The Magic Trio assembled itself next to Shinbun; Emma entered the room curiously. Sconey sat on her head. She giggled.

"I don't think this is a good idea," Michael Arch warned from next to Mr. Allen. He had been a bit gloomy since Lucas's departure and Jennifer's disappearance. Lucas had left the day after Christmas day with Karen DuLay. Dirk had tagged along, but Lucas wanted nothing to do with him and had dropped him off at home as soon as possible. "It's witchcraft, after all –"

"Look, at this point all I want to know is what the hell is going on. I don't care if I have to give up my soul to do so," Mr. Allen groused. "Why is Hughie the one who has all the problems?"

"Is it because the writer is more attached to him?" There was a pause, followed by blobbing noises as the Mochis patched up the shattered fourth wall.

"The more logical and less-fourth wall shattering reason is… is because he has a personality similar to that of Arthur and Lovino. Fangirls go crazy for that sort of thing," Shinbun mumbled from the corner.

"Let's get the ball rolling here. Wizard Arthur?" Mr. Allen raised an eyebrow. "Do the honours."

"As you wish," drawled Wizard Arthur as he stepped forward. Light surrounded Emma – dream-lights twirling, dancing, sparkling in the dim office room. As she watched, she became more and more mesmerised by their complex dance.

"Sleep, little one," Mr. Allen murmured sadly. "Sleep."

* * *

><p>Alicia watched Julietta warily. Of all the people who could betray her, Julietta seemed highly unlikely. Unless it was all a front? She frowned.<p>

Julietta was one of the most air-brained people Alicia knew, and that was saying something. Julietta had completed her Mary Sue training with honours from Lilith as one of the dumbest airheads in the factory, a distinction reserved for the classic dumb-blonde Mary Sue. To think that she could sport even a miniscule bit of a brain was laughable. She spent far too much of her time daydreaming about her happily ever after with Romeo to care about what was going on.

And yet she had been up to something. Alicia could sense it like she could sense weakness in male Canon characters. Julietta _had _been doing something before she walked in, and it wasn't conversing with Romeo.

Venezia entered the room. "The desk job is so tedious," she complained. "I'm dying."

"Dying of boredom? Nice try," sneered Alicia.

Venezia still looked downcast. Alicia wondered if it would be worth the trouble to send her to a doctor. The doctors at the Mary Sue Factory were better trained at Tender Loving Care than psychology. She didn't need to scar Venezia any further than her current mental state would allow. That would just exacerbate matters.

"Julietta?" Venezia asked after a moment. The other Mary Sue looked up, eyes wide. "Come with me."

"What are you doing? Where are you going?" Alicia demanded, immediately on alert.

"None of your business," Venezia muttered. "Don't be so paranoid."

"Says the Venetian." Alicia rolled her eyes. "It's just that I don't trust Julietta with you."

"And why is that? Scared I'm going to tell her that her Romeo doesn't exist?"

"No, it's that…" Alicia got up from her seat and walked over to Venezia. "I nearly caught her talking to someone the other day. Could have been a PPC spy."

"Sure, Alicia. I'm sure she was just mistaking someone for Romeo again. Don't worry your perfect little head about it." Venezia rolled her eyes as well. "Can't have you overheating your cranium, now can we?"

"Fuck you." Alicia crossed her arms. Julietta walked over to Venezia, eyes downcast.

"Gladly." Venezia smirked, a shadow of her old self, before sweeping regally from the room. Even when demoted she carried herself with grace and poise. Alicia envied her for a moment, and then checked herself.

Francesca wasn't going to be back from wherever the fuck she went (the last time Alicia checked she was going clubbing with Serenity Moonshine Starlight Unicornbutt and Sakura Kawaii-Sparkles-Ukazime-Uhica-Rainbow-Unicorns-Happehnessnesss-Imnotafuckingmarysuedamnit-Awesomeeee) for quite a while, so Alicia decided to turn on the observation panel again and check on the people in the time loop. However, as soon as she did the screen flickered and turned into a brightly-flashing test panel.

"What? What the actual fuck! Turn on! Turn on, fuckass!" Alicia swore, shielding her eyes from the seizure-inducing flashes.

The screen changed. Rick Astley filled the air. Alicia covered her ears.

"I did not mean rickroll me, you son of a bitch!" she screamed.

The screen turned off. Alicia pounded the screen, hollering at it to cooperate. Had Julietta done this? Did Julietta actually have a brain? The thought threatened to overwhelm her. Alicia swore under her breath.

"JULIETTA!"

* * *

><p>"There's no use. I've obviously failed that debate," Peter groaned on Friday afternoon as they piled into the cafeteria for dinner. A UKSey versus FrSey food fight was already in full swing, judging by the fish flying everywhere.<p>

"Even if you lose, they might still let you in," Lila replied consolingly, patting his back.

"I failed the examination, too."

"Pshaw, that thing was a cakewalk," scoffed Ursula. She was carrying a conspicuously large tome of Lovecraftian stories that she had obviously borrowed from Megan Vaughan.

"WHY ARE WE EVEN FIGHTING? SEYCHELLES IS SUCH A BITCH!" Roda Vanille Curtis yelled as she ducked a handful of fish flying her way.

"YOU TAKE THAT BACK, BITCH, YOU TAKE THAT BACK RIGHT NOW!" Chiara Valenti screamed back at her.

"I WILL NOT!"

"This is giving me a headache," snapped Ursula as they waded through mountains of fish bits to get to the meal line. "I'll just eat in the dorms or something."

"You know they banned that ever since C. Jeanette Hernandez –"

"Fuck that." Ursula paused. "What the heck did she do?"

"Stashed food in her room and attracted Ariana Beatrice Grant and other mice." Lila shrugged. "Malicious One had a field day."

"Bet he did." Ursula began heaping her plate with fish curry. Seychellois cuisine was said to be influenced by Indian, Chinese, African, French, and English cuisine. It focused on spices, fish, coconut milk, and breadfruit, and attention to detail was paramount.

They grabbed their food and left the cafeteria to its furious food fight, seeking instead the solitude of the hallway (and in Ursula's case, the dormitories). "Looking forward to the seminar this Sunday. Do you know what it's going to be about?" Lila asked. Peter shrugged.

"More writing, I think," Kira said through a mouthful of fish. "Yo."

"I don't see why Lila lets you say 'yo' all the time yet never lets me speak in Japanese," Peter noted sullenly.

"Oh come on, it's because you sound unintelligible when you speak Japanese," Lila replied frankly.

"I thought you loved me."

"That has nothing to do with it. And I never said I loved you. Love's much deeper than that."

Peter pouted. Lila rolled her eyes. Kira gagged.

"Get a storage closet, desu yo," she grumbled.

Peter flushed bright red. Lila snorted. "Kira, do you honestly think we do that sort of stuff?"

"Why not, yo? It's what I would do with Sealand, yo –"

"Yes, well, you're infatuated with Sealand. Peter and I are simply going slow. Nothing wrong with it."

"What base, yo?"

Peter's red turned even deeper. "First," he mumbled.

"Other people don't even go up to bat. I'd consider ourselves lucky," Lila sniffed.

"It's easy to get to first, yo," scoffed Kira. "It's harder to go from there."

"And when's the last time you've seen any action? Unless you and Ursula –"

"FUCK NO, YO!"

"Very eloquent," Lila remarked. "You know kissing in kismesis is just as acceptable, right?"

"This isn't Homestuck, Lila," Peter sighed.

"Fine, be that way." Lila pouted. "Back to the seminar. More writing, huh? Are they accepting student work? I heard from Natalie Schön that last time they did."

"I heard they aren't this time because someone turned in something really scarring," Peter replied. "Ulrich was blabbing about it in What's In A Name today, after Austria yelled at us for confusing him with Australia."

Lila sniggered. "There are no kangaroos in Austria. I'll never forget that."

"Doubt anyone will." Much to Kira's disgust, Peter and Lila snuggled in closer in the hallway. "They're going to talk about dialogue, I think. Punctuation. Boring stuff."

"Oh man, if Ursula heard you she'd start ranting about the importance of punctuation in dialogue," Lila drawled, leaning her head against Peter's shoulder. Kira gagged. "Kira, if you're going to be immature about this you could just go cosy up to Ursula in the dormitories –"

"Ewww!"

"Or, I dunno… go stalk Estellantalia Serafianta Sonnolaso-Jones. She likes Sealand, too."

"She ships Sealand and Wy, desu yo! Eww! Sealand-poopsie-kun belongs to me, desu yo!"

"Whatever floats your micronation," Lila groaned, leaning even more heavily against Peter until he was nearly topping over. Kira mimed vomiting some more before grabbing her tray and exiting the scene.

Peter was roughly the colour of a London telephone box. "Lila, that wasn't necessary," he gasped as Lila let up pressure with a giggle.

"No, it wasn't," agreed Lila. "Let's go find somewhere less public."

They headed off in search of an empty classroom.

* * *

><p><em>When Ema awoke, she noticed that Emma was not there. "Emma?" she demanded, getting up. "Emma?"<em>

_She tried opening the door, but it was locked. Shit. "EMMA!"_

Meanwhile, in Mr. Allen's office, Emma was firmly in a trance. Michael Arch was gripping the desk so hard that his knuckles turned white. Shinbun's hand blurred across the page as he wrote what Emma was saying.

"Mama, Mama please. Mama, tell me, please!"

_Ema screamed and pounded against the door a couple of corridors away. "EMMA! EMMA!"_

"Mama, who is she? Who is the lady that haunts Dadda?"

"_EMMA!" Mr. Hugh heard the screaming and ran down the hall, finding the door locked. He searched his pockets for the key, and came up with a whole ring of them. He made a mental note to colour code them as he started trying them all._

"Lilith." At that, Mr. Allen sat up straighter. Shinbun nearly paused writing.

"Keep the pen moving," snapped Mr. Allen. "Keep the pen moving!"

"Lilith haunts Dadda."

"_EMMA!" Ema nearly fell on Mr. Hugh as he opened the door. "THEY'VE TAKEN EMMA!"_

"_Who?" Mr. Hugh demanded._

"_I don't know!"_

"_Ema, this is absolutely unacceptable! How did you lose sight of her? How?" Mr. Hugh seized her wrist and stormed down the hallway. "Endland! Eevahn! We are looking for my daughter!"_

"_Rubbish," sniffed Endland._

"_Excuse me?"_

"_Meep." Endland bounced away grumpily._

"Lilith haunts Dadda's dreams. Lilith killed Mama. Lilith is already dead." Emma's voice was getting more and more mechanical. "Lilith wants revenge on Dadda."

"What sort of – why revenge?"

"Dadda harboured fugitives." Apparently hypnotism made precocious eight-month-olds spew SAT vocabulary. "Daddy harboured Satow and Kane."

"Satow and Kane aren't fugitives."

"_Who do we know could have taken her?" Mr. Hugh wondered, looking at Ema. She shrugged. He stared down the hallway for a moment before striding towards Mr. Allen's office._

"_WHAT'S GOING ON? I HEARD SCREAMING," Karkat Vantas came running down the hall. "NEVER A DULL MOMENT IN THIS FUCKING PLACE."_

"_Well, you were the only troll who stayed, surprisingly enough." Mr. Hugh continued to walk down the hall. "Tell Feferi I send my greetings."_

"_Pisces," muttered Ema under her breath. Mr. Hugh raised an eyebrow, but said nothing._

"Satow and Kane took something from Lilith," Emma whispered, her eyes still fixated on the lights swirling above her. "They took a time machine that she had been working on. They killed Agnes Hill, guardian of the time machine."

The door to the office slammed open and Mr. Hugh, Ema, and Karkat were standing in the doorway, varying degrees of shock and anger etched on their faces.

"What's going on?" Mr. Hugh demanded, glaring at Mr. Allen.

"Shush. Something's happening," Mr. Allen replied quietly. "Emma, why is the time machine important?"

"You can't do this to my daughter!"

"My suspicions exactly!" Michael Arch declared triumphantly. "This was unethical from the beginning!"

"SHUT UP. THE PLOT NEEDS TO THICKEN," Karkat snapped, breaking the fourth wall for the fourth time.

All eyes went back to Emma, who had gotten up on her feet and reached for the lights.

"Satow and Kane are Dadda and Mama from the Mirror Multiverse," Emma intoned as she raised herself on tiptoes. "Satow and Kane have the suitcase. Satow and Kane have the suitcase. Satow and Kane –"

"Stop it!" Mr. Hugh grabbed Emma and pulled her away from the lights. The spell ended. Emma began to cry. Mr. Hugh shoved Emma into Ema's arms and advanced on Mr. Allen, face furious. "What in the world are you trying to do?"

Mr. Allen looked at him coolly. "Your daughter holds a key," he replied, even as Mr. Hugh bristled and steamed. Shinbun and the Magic Trio took that as an excellent cue to sidle away. "She has been communicating with someone she calls her mother –"

"Nothing wrong with a girl trying to find a mother she will never have, is there?"

"The problem is, Hughie, that Takara is dead. She shouldn't be haunting dreams."

"Neither should Lilith!"

"The answer has just been said." Mr. Allen steeped his fingers again and looked at Mr. Hugh levelly. "The Takara that has been talking to Emma is actually Kane, and the Lilith that plagues your dreams is a version of Lilith from the Mirror Multiverse."

"But –"

"Hughie, think about it. It coincides with the reports, doesn't it? This is why we need to get you into FicPsych. The denizens of the Mirror Multiverse are trying to infiltrate us for some reason. You and your daughter must close your minds. It's crucial to preserving the barrier."

* * *

><p>They discovered a paper at noon while digging through Satow and Kane's former room. Jennifer thought it was irrelevant because it was merely a string of letters and numbers. R'lyeh thought differently.<p>

The letters and numbers had, after all, been formatted in a way similar to that of the input system on the Remote Activator. There were four slots to dictate the Canon, the fanfic, the location, and the time. The Canon, or the primary Remote Activator code, was always three letters or numbers. Everything else varied.

"You've been staring at that piece of paper for ages," Jennifer remarked after a moment. R'lyeh looked up from his paper with raised eyebrows. "Believe me, that's just rubbish."

"I wouldn't think so," R'lyeh replied calmly. "It seems like coordinates to me."

"I thought coordinates were only numbers in ordered pairs."

"You think of coordinates in such basic, human forms." R'lyeh smirked. "I comprehend this completely."

"Bully for you." Jennifer had pulled out a desk drawer and uncovered a book. "Hey, look, a book."

"You are a poet and you did not know it," deadpanned R'lyeh. Jennifer smiled slightly. "What is it about?"

"It's …" Jennifer opened the notebook. "It's about the Chronotransporter."

R'lyeh leaned over to look at the notebook, pressing lightly against Jennifer as he did so. She did not move; in fact, she seemed to be leaning towards him as she flipped the pages silently.

"Notes," R'lyeh muttered. "Those must be notes on how it was created! This… this is…" he paused. "Good."

"Understatement of the past few cycles," Jennifer retorted. "This is fucking brilliant! It's our ticket out of here!"

R'lyeh frowned. "But that does not give the location. This does." He held up his paper. "I hold the 'ticket out of here' as you so elegantly put it."

"Well, then give it over so I can write it on the calendar!"

"No."

Jennifer paused. "No?" she echoed.

R'lyeh nodded. "No," he said. "I'd like to stay here a bit longer."

Jennifer's jaw dropped, and then she started laughing. "Are you pulling my leg?" she demanded.

"My hands are here."

"I meant, are you joking? I thought you were all for getting out of here as quickly as possible!"

"Now that –"

"Oh, is it because over here you don't have to face responsibility for your actions?" Jennifer's voice seemed to get shriller and shriller by the minute. "Is it that? That you can nuke the school and kill the students because you feel like it? Is that so?"

"It's partly true –"

"Grow up!" Jennifer shot him the dirtiest look she could muster. "Look at you, you overgrown child, refusing to leave this fucking time loop just so that you can blow things up and… have you only thought of yourself these past few days? Give me that paper!"

R'lyeh held it at arm's length. Jennifer had to lean on him in her attempt to grab it. All the blood in his body seemed to be draining into other unmentionable parts. R'lyeh muttered several curses to himself.

"This isn't funny! Give me the paper!"

"No!" R'lyeh darted away from her, tearing the paper up as he went. Jennifer chased him, knocking over the folding screen. "Look, I've got other reasons to stay here! Allow me show you!"

"Why did you just tear up that paper? You heartless worm!"

R'lyeh paused in his running and whirled around to face her, eyes furious.

"You. Will. Not. Call. Me. That," he growled, advancing on her and pinning her against the wall.

To his surprise, Jennifer suddenly deflated; a wide-eyed look appeared in her eyes. Her breath quickened; her skin became clammy.

"Let me go!" she screamed. "LET ME GO!"

R'lyeh immediately let go; Jennifer tore down the hall, sobbing. R'lyeh looked at his hands, unsure of what just happened.

Moments later, he heard the sound of a gun going off. The world went white.

_Beep, beep, beep, beep_…


	38. Suddenly, Alpacas

**Additional Disclaimer:** I do not own "Nobody Knows the Trouble I've Seen".

**Notes:** HOLY FUCK FIVE HUNDRED + REVIEWS. I would like to thank the academy, my hypothetical future corgi puppy, and my teacup for this honourable distinction. Nope, I'm joking – I'd like to thank all of you!

* * *

><p><strong>Part XIII<strong>

The first indication to R'lyeh that there was something wrong was that Jennifer did not meet him outside the cafeteria like always. Either he fucked up big-time, or something else fucked up big-time. In this instance, he blamed himself. That conclusion led him to kill some passing students (they were, as he claimed, in his way) as he headed off to search for her.

He found her in the library, staring out a window. Back to square one, to depressed and moody bitch. And right when he thought he had succeeded in making her a less depressing person, too. That alien girl he had overheard several times had said so – had said that she was being more depressing than usual. Once upon a time, Jennifer Chang had been a happier person. Happier with that fellow with the unfortunate name.

And then some things happened and… why was he thinking about a human? This was not healthy at all. Especially when said human was as fucked up as a post-Workbitch Jen Chang.

"Is everything all right?" R'lyeh had to admit that he scared even himself with his affability. It was like watching the Beast from _Beauty and the Beast_ attempt to host a fluffy pink tea party.

"Fine." Jennifer didn't even turn around.

"Come on." Wasn't that the right human term for it? "You do not look all right."

"I'm weak."

"Well, that is indeed shocking. I do remember this one time five cycles ago when you tried to punch me – I didn't even feel that –"

"Shut up." Jennifer turned around. "I didn't mean it like that. Look. I'm sorry. I need to be alone."

"And what about that mission that you were so desperate to finish last time?"

"Forget it. Let's rot here in perpetual Christmas-land. See if I care."

There was definitely something wrong with the picture.

"Who is the child now, hm?" R'lyeh demanded as he followed her out of the library. "Who is pushing everyone away in a desperate attempt to look strong?"

"I – shut up, you don't know –"

"_Nobody knooooows the trouble I've seeeeeeeen_ –"

"Cease that caterwauling."

"Good line. I may have to use that on Jack the next time he sings in the shower." That caused Jennifer to hide a smile behind her hand.

"You better credit me."

"Of course. Now, enlighten me. What led you to commit suicide last round?"

The smile dropped faster than the bass on a particularly filthy dubstep piece. "Nothing," was the automatic reply.

"Codswallop. Something caused you to become cold and clammy and for a moment, I thought I had shown you my true form on accident –"

"You really don't have anything to do with it. It was like a trigger, all right? I thought I had gotten over it. I thought I could deal with situations like this without overreacting, and then –"

"But what –"

Jennifer didn't hear him. "I was shocked and ashamed that I reacted so badly to that. I'm sorry. I had to rewind. The mission failed, anyway."

"What was it, though?"

Jennifer shook her head. R'lyeh nodded.

"Tell me when you feel well enough to, then." Great, he was going soft. Next thing he knew he would be letting her paint his toenails fuchsia and actually holding fluffy pink tea parties. He shuddered at the thought.

"Thanks. I'm sorry for being immature."

"I was acting immature, too."

"I overreacted."

"I goaded and… triggered you."

"I'm still sorrier than you –" Jennifer broke off, smiling. R'lyeh felt the acidic butterflies swooping in his stomach. The mental jury should be returning with the verdict any minute now –

And then Jennifer broke the spell. "So. Shall we go find the explanation for your sudden desire to stay here?" she asked.

"I suppose."

They headed off towards the Staff Section. Halfway there, their hands met and clasped. Neither tried to pull away.

* * *

><p>"I agree with Rick Perry."<p>

"Oh great, Faye Markus is making herself an unpopular bitch again."

"Shut it, Kirk."

"Really, I don't see why you bother." Andy sent a martini down to Faye, glowering at her as he did so. The other people in the café rolled their eyes and pretended to ignore Faye.

"Where's your little alcoholic plaything?"

"Where's your steroid-pumped boytoy?"

Faye swirled the contents of her martini glass, idly looking at the olive on the side. "He's having therapy with the Rome-Wall again. Gloria Barber and Sean Tanaka are with him."

"The three creepiest students at the school in one room." Andy shuddered. "The mind reels."

"Shut it. MMJ isn't that creepy."

"He's not off the blacklist yet."

"Oh please."

"We can't afford to have it happen again, even though you're the only one who puts out for him." He paused. "In fact, I'm sure that could be cause for concern, too. You're the only one. He might get the idea to –"

"You are undeniably perverted. Shut up." Faye flipped him the bird and sipped her martini.

"Whatever floats your olive, Faye." Andy rolled his eyes. "But tell us. Why do you agree with Dick Perry?"

"He has a valid point. I barely saw any Christmas this year. The school is waging a war against Christmas –"

"Oh please."

"The religious censors! And believe it or not, gay students are allowed to express their lifestyles here while the innocent little children are not allowed to pray –"

"Well, what did you expect with a Canon full of characters that may or may not be gay for each other?" Andy shot a mischievous look at Charlie Tenterden, Taylor Drews-Garcia, and Franklin Livingston. They were gathered in the corner with beers and other spirits. Sara Parker's whiskey stash was now obsolete with the founding of the café.

"But think of the poor lambs!"

"Lambs? I didn't know New Zealand's sheep had offspring." Andy whipped up a Bleeptea Latté for Ariana Vargas Carriedo, who had come to the café with with Ariana Beatrice Grant and Ariana Julia Vortex in hopes of starting some sort of Ariana-With-Three-Names Inquisition. After all, there were four Alexes…

"I didn't mean –"

"Besides, it's not the lambs that matter, it's the llamas. Obviously the school mascot should be the Drama Llama."

"What are you even talking about, Freakdrew?"

"I don't know, something not as idiotic as the Republican presidential candidates?"

"You're a bigot."

"Pot, meet Kettle."

"Pot's bad for you. Have you been smoking that?"

"Fuck you, I put it into your brownie."

Faye screeched in alarm. Andy cackled.

"Joking."

"YOU BASTARD!"

"Hey, I said the Drama Llama should be the school mascot. We know drama."

At that precise moment, a Mochi came bouncing in, followed by a wild-eyed boy named Aman Eisenberg.

"Alpacas! Alpacas in the hallway!"

"TROLL! TROLL IN THE DUNGEON!" Karkat snapped from the corner, over a bottle of Faygo.

"No, I'm serious –" Aman was drowned out by the sound of thundering hooves. A huge herd of alpacas swarmed into the café, presumably looking for milk. Several of them wore cowboy hats.

"WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK. THIS IS JUST AS RIDICULOUS AS JOHN EGBERT'S LOVE FOR NIC CAGE."

"I think it's a pretty funny joke, hee hee," John Egbert replied, as Andy started pouring glasses of milk for the fuzzy camelids.

"It could just be comic relief!" Jade Harley agreed, grinning. "I mean, things have been really tense with the Staff!"

"Frankly, I cannot wait to leave," Rose Lalonde drawled as Dave Strider tried to ironically drink his apple juice.

* * *

><p>"Where did the alpacas go?" Ludwig demanded as he, Feliciano, and Kiku ran down the hallway looking for the escaped alpacas. They had apparently snuck out of the Headmaster's office. Not that anyone knew what the Headmaster looked like or where his office was located. No one knew what he did, cooped up in his room like so.<p>

"Last time I checked they were grazing on my plants in the Conservatory, so I shooed them away," Roderich snapped. "They went that way." He pointed in the direction of the exit.

"Has anyone seen any alpacas?" Feliciano called as they ran. "Ve, Kiku, they're so hard to find!"

Kiku was reading a copy of "My Neighbour Yaoi-chan" as they ran, and therefore could not express his opinions. Ludwig and Feliciano looked at each other and simultaneously rolled their eyes.

"They were going in the direction of the library," Seychelles announced at the entrance; she was carrying her fish and a basket of laundry. "Canadia stopped this boy, Aman Eisenberg, from glomping Matthew on his way to the lake for some skating. They got caught in the alpaca stampede."

"Danke," Ludwig replied, rushing away in search of Canadia, Aman, and the alpacas.

They did not need to look far, because the camelids were cooped up in the Café Foscarini drinking milk. Within moments, they were rounded up and taken back to the Staff Section.

And thus, the Great Alpaca Stampede of 2012 went down in the annals of IAHF history.

* * *

><p>"Conga rats, Megsies!" Taylor cooed as Megan appeared at their table at dinner. "You got the position of Russia! Work starts tomorrow; we've got to supervise the Dialogue Seminar."<p>

"Ooh, do I get to be a bouncer?" Megan squealed, taking a seat and throwing an arm around Charlie.

"I suppose." Charlie grinned thinly.

"Chas, what's wrong with you?" Megan pouted. "You seem a bit down."

Charlie nodded over to the head of the table. Mr. Hugh's seat was empty.

"Oh, I see. Hughie's not here. Maybe he's just busy!"

"No, did you read the _Bled Chronicles_?" Charlie pulled out a copy of the newspaper from his bag – it wasn't a purse; it was a man-bag! – and handed it to Megan.

Megan skimmed through the article. "Cool story, bro."

"It's serious! How will I live without him?" Charlie demanded melodramatically.

"It's not like he's dead."

"But he's so far away…"

"It's just FicPsych."

"He's going to have therapy! What if it changes him?"

"Don't be a pussy," scoffed Megan.

"Balls are weak!" Sister Sweden called from down the table. "Be a pussy. Don't be a ball!"

"S'ster Sweden, that's quite enough," snapped Berwald.

Megan snorted. "Sister Sweden, all the awards to you," she declared. Sister Sweden snickered.

Charlie sighed, picking at his food. Megan handed him back his paper. He glanced at the offending article once more before stashing it away.

**COURSE COORDINATOR HUGH FRASER AND DAUGHTER START THERAPY**

_Hugh Fraser, Course Coordinator at the International Academy of Hetalia Fanfiction, and his daughter Emma are scheduled to be away for the rest of the semester as they undergo therapy at the Department of Fictional Psychology at the Headquarters of the Protectors of the Plot Continuum. Ema Skye, Official Babysitter, has gone with them. The trio departed yesterday, after an incident in Allen Clarke's office._

"_I fear for my daughter's life and sanity," Fraser says, when asked about his decision to capitulate to Clarke's demands._

_The incident in Clarke's office is unfortunately off the record. Michael Arch, minor Canon character and student, maintains that what happened in there is strictly unethical as well as confidential._

"_Dark things happened in there. You know how it is," he says. "I hope Hugh and Emma will be all right. All of my prayers will go to them until they are healed."_

_With a disaster in the shape of Clarke and Fraser dividing the school in two averted, the Staff of IAHF will continue life as scheduled._

"_I can only hope that FicPsych will help them close their minds." Clarke says. "These past few weeks have been unnaturally serious for us, what with the disappearance of the student and Miss Chang, the escape of Venezia Vargas, and this. Hopefully the mood will lighten as the semester progresses. We definitely need it."_


	39. Whose Line Is It Anyway?

**Part XIV**

"Welcome to the 'Whose Line Is It Anyway?' seminar, where we discuss the nuances and importance of dialogue in writing," Arthur Kirkland announced on Sunday as the students slowly took out pen and paper. "You better take notes, because Mr. Allen has recently authorised a seminar-centric semester final. Pay attention!"

"Yeah, what Art says," Alfred F. Jones mumbled, yawning. He appeared worse for wear probably because he and Ivan had held a midnight ski competition with their Mochis. Eevahn, murika, LAmerique, and Rusha had all tied for first in the Mochi division and blobbed all over each other in an attempt to determine who had won and who had cheated. No one won. However, the RusAmerica fangirls maintained that Ivan and Alfred had really spent the night getting it on and was using the midnight ski competition as an excuse. No one believed them.

"Yeah, dialogue's very important," agreed Matthew Williams, peering out from behind the screen. Sasha K. Everthorne, Heather Elise Mirory, and Maiya Carver leapt up intending to storm the stage, but they were quickly pulled down by wiser peers. Ever since Ever Li got mauled by hockey stick-wielding Mochis for trying to glomp the Canadian, all of the other students took that as a good sign not to cross Matthew and his posse. "Punctuation in dialogue can indicate the tone just as well as taglines. Scripts, for example, really rely on dialogue to convey the story and the punctuation to show the tone of the lines, eh."

"For example," Arthur explained as Alfred pulled up a presentation. "Take a look at this scene here."

The students looked up at the screen, where a dialogue between Feliciano and Ludwig was written.

"_I want pasta…" Feliciano mumbled._

"_Nein," Ludwig replied._

"_I want pasta." Feliciano tapped his feet impatiently._

"_Nein!"_

"_I want pasta!"_

"_Nein –"_

"_Pasta?"_

"_Feliciano, is that all you think about? Is that all there is, pasta on your brain? For shame!" Ludwig bellowed._

"As you can see," Matthew said, "the taglines and the punctuation work together to create the characters' moods. Feliciano starts out hesitant, with ellipses and mumbling. Ludwig's reply is customary. Feliciano then becomes more demanding, with a period and an action instead of a tagline. Taglines get dropped from there, because the conversation is clearly just between Feliciano and Ludwig. Ludwig gets angrier, as indicated by the exclamation point. Feliciano also gets more excited with the exclamation point. Ludwig is then cut off with a dash, causing the reader to read Feliciano's question immediately. And because this conversation was starting to go nowhere, Ludwig finally breaks the pattern with a longer line."

Alfred grinned and changed the slide. "If that doesn't help, try this one between me and Artie!"

"_Bloody git! Diddly-twinkums wot wot! Top o' the mornin' to ye –"_

"_Shut it, Alfred, we don't talk like that! That last bit was Irish, too –"_

"_Wankers! Wankers, the lot of you! Pip pip cheerio and a spot o' tea!"_

"_Stop it, you scurrilous cur!"_

"_That's the spirit, Artie!"_

"_Fuck you!"_

"_Your place or mine?"_

"_You do know this conversation will end up on the presentation?"_

"_Exactly! We've got to be posh about it all! Chin up, old sport, and tally ho!"_

"_You sound like a demented version of Jay Gatsby!"_

"_Aha! So you do read my stories!"_

"_Shut it!"_

The USUK fangirls naturally giggled their way through reading that exchange, while everyone else rolled their eyes and glared at them.

"That was an actual conversation!" Alfred exclaimed. "As you can see, we didn't include taglines, but you can really tell who's saying what, right?

"That's because you used names," Matthew pointed out.

Arthur nodded. "Names. That's another thing about dialogue. People do not call other people by their names every other line. It sounds disjointed. Behold." He changed the slide to show a conversation between Francis, Gilbert, and Antonio.

"_Gilbert, why must you drink beer?" Francis scoffed._

"_Francis, I don't know. Beer is just fucking delicious." Gilbert took a swig of his beer. "What about you, Antonio? Your opinions on beer?"_

"_I like Sangrìa better?" Antonio asked innocently. "Francis and Gilbert, have you seen Lovino lately? I am getting so worried about him."_

_Gilbert suddenly snorted with laughter. "Antonio, that look on your face is so hilarious. I can't stand this conversation anymore, Francis, the whole 'having to use each other's names every line' thing is killing me."_

"_I understand, Gilbert. I understand completely," Francis reassured. "It doesn't feel right, don't you agree, Antonio?"_

"_Absolutely, Gilbert and Francis," Antonio replied, struggling to hold in his laughter._

"It does sound ridiculous," Janice Harrier (a strange creature who turns into a cat under the light of the full moon) sighed. "It's like… not natural. Like… the dialogue gets stopped by the names and stuff."

"Exactly. The same thing can happen when you're trying to insert a tagline between two parts of a character's line." Arthur changed the slide to that of a conversation between Denmark and Norway. "Behold."

"_This is a dumb idea," said Norway, glaring at the Dane across the table from him. "What exactly are we supposed to discuss?"_

"_Anything and everything!" exclaimed Denmark. "As long as it's got something to do with dialogue!"_

"_You're talking in fragments, I think," Norway remarked, casually breaking the fourth wall. "It's rather distressing."_

"_Oh please," scoffed Denmark, "we just need one more example and then we're done!"_

Matthew snickered. "As you can see, the best place to split a line is at the end of a sentence, or at least at the end of a thought. Generally, in creative writing fragments are acceptable but tricky to work with."

"We'd suggest sticking to complete sentences until you get a better grasp of the English language," agreed Arthur. "The other day we came across this Swedish fanwriter who probably would have sounded less like an idiot had she written in her native language."

"Don't diss Swedes!" Eliza Keaton whined. "IKEA is the best place ever!"

"Right." Arthur coughed. "Now, before we get the lot of you writing –"

"Writing?" chorused several fangirls.

"Yes, writing. We'll be asking you all to do a dialogue exercise," Matthew affirmed.

"OH YAY, WRITING!"

"Shut it! Let's get through this last thing on syntax!" Arthur glowered at all of them and changed the slide. "Let's begin this with a quick quote by Gary Provost –"

"Another one of my writers! See, I knew you liked my stuff –"

"Shut it, Alfred, we're lecturing here!" Arthur loudly cleared his throat. "This is a good quote by Provost on syntax. Behold."

Matthew began to read. "This sentence has five words. Here are five more words. Five-word sentences are fine. But several together become monotonous. Listen to what is happening. The writing is getting boring. The sound of it drones. It's like a stuck record. The ear demands more variety. Now listen. I vary the sentence length, and I create music. Music. The writing sings. It has a pleasant rhythm, a lilt, a harmony. I use short sentences. And I use sentences of medium length. And sometimes, when I am certain the reader is rested, I will engage him with a sentence of considerable length, a sentence that burns with energy and builds with all the impetus of a crescendo, the roll of the drums, the crash of the cymbals – sounds that say listen to this, it is important."

At the end of that, the Canada fans gave him a standing ovation, causing the Mochis to bounce agitatedly to get them to sit back down.

"Did you hear the difference?" Arthur asked. "There is musicality in those words because of the varied syntax. Too often we see stories that just drone on and on with the same sentence structure. Change it up. Short sentences with long sentences; medium sentences and short sentences – whatever it takes to get your message across as engagingly as possible, use it. Once again, we reiterate that fragments are all right as soon as you have grasped the language correctly; otherwise it sounds sloppy."

Alfred beamed and changed the slide, adding, "Which brings us to our assignment! Write a dialogue between two characters – they must both be Canon characters, and we will be grading this! – about whatever topic is in-character for them."

"We will deduct points for Original Characters and out-of-character statements," added Arthur.

"Make sure to vary your syntax and punctuation," Matthew agreed. "Each line must be different in some way, and all of it must follow a natural conversation arc."

"This is due in your Wednesday history class," finished Arthur. "Get writing!"

* * *

><p>The screen flickered to life. Julietta grinned, but her smile quickly faltered when she noticed that the boy had brought someone else. A girl.<p>

"Hello?" The girl asked, her eyes nervous. Julietta's natural Mary Sue defences kicked in.

"And who the hell are you?" she demanded.

The girl looked taken aback. "I'm… well… I'm…"

The boy looked at the girl oddly. "Something wrong?"

"She hates me."

"She does not."

"You're the whiny bitch Alicia captured!"

"See? She hates me."

"Bitch, I nearly went deaf that night!"

"There is no need to label her as a female dog," snapped the boy.

The two girls glared at each other, but an unspoken agreement passed between them right over the boy's head. They would agree to silently loathe each other for undisclosed reasons. The boy looked smug; obviously he was mentally patting himself on the back for his diplomacy and contemplating a future career in International Relations and Diplomacy should his plans of World Domination fail.

"Right, well." Julietta mentally skulked at having to share the boy's attention with another girl. This mentality was one common to many Mary Sues, who often attempt to degrade and slander other female characters in order to steal the spotlight. Normally this was done by 'natural' beauty – and of course, Julietta had that in spades. Next to her, the other girl looked even plainer than usual. "I have information for you. Alicia's out walking the Cute Animal Friends and Francesca is clubbing again –"

"Again?" echoed the girl.

"None of your business," Julietta pouted. "Look, the last time we talked –"

"Last time?" The girl raised an eyebrow at the boy. Julietta immediately jumped to conclusions.

"Hey, if you two lovebirds are going to, like, fight, tell me so I can get popcorn! I love drama!"

"Bitch, we are not lovebirds," snapped the girl.

"Hey. Hey." The boy frowned. "What did I just say about labelling each other as female canines?"

"But she –"

"Calm. Down." The boy sighed. "Look, I already told you that I've been contacting her. She's got information on the factory that we're trapped in and possibly a way out."

"I've got information on Lilith," Julietta muttered sullenly. "If no one wants to hear it, fine!"

"No, no, I want to hear it." The boy turned to her. "Enlighten us."

Julietta triumphantly produced a huge picture of an elf lady. "See, she's a major bitch!"

"Right." The boy's interested expression slid down to boredom.

"And apparently she was the clone of this…" Julietta shuddered and struggled to form the word. "P…"

"PPC?" the girl asked. Julietta nodded, twitching a bit as if the term 'PPC' was under Taboo. "I think I know this part. Lilith's the clone of Agent Eledwhen Elerossiel."

"Who? What? How do you know?" the boy demanded.

"When you get a Staff position you need to know the PPC Agents who check in," the girl replied, shrugging. "I'd… well, I'd sorta met her and her partner Christianne last year, after a Mary Sue Invasion that this Lilith orchestrated –"

"Yeah, yeah!" Julietta nodded eagerly. "I was created a month after that attack!"

"So you guys are still open for business?"

"I'm not a slut!"

"I never said that."

"You sounded like you were calling the Factory a brothel!"

"What gave you that idea?"

"You lot!" sniffed Julietta. "You guys think you're on the side of goodness and light and that means all the girls who don't agree with you are naturally slutty Mary Sues!"

"Well, you are a Mary Sue. But I didn't say you were –"

"You pretty much did!" sniffed Julietta.

"Look, I'm sorry. Let's get this infodump over with." The girl crossed her arms and raised an eyebrow.

"Excellent idea," hissed Julietta, rifling through a folder of pictures. "Well. I was created a month after the attack on IAHF. I was trained here in this Factory as well, so of course they taught me the 'real story' of what happened."

"Was Lilith a poor old martyr?" snickered the girl. "Denied her right to glory and fame and a harem of Canon characters?"

Julietta glared at her. "Anyway, as both of us can tell you, Lilith was killed in the invasion. The leader after her is Angelle Hill, and she's such a creeper. She owns this cobra –"

The girl twitched. "Is it the cobra that attacked IAHF?"

"Clone, I think," Julietta said, raising an eyebrow. "What, scared of snakes?"

The girl glared at her. The boy snickered. The girl glared at him, too.

"Moving on," the boy suggested quickly, face flushing slightly. Julietta noted with a twinge in her stomach that the two had moved closer together, like celestial bodies drawn by each other's gravitational pull. Not that she thought of it in those terms exactly, but the sentiment remained.

"Right!" Julietta grinned, flashing her perfect white teeth. "The cobra that Angelle owns is so freaky. I think she talks to it."

"Parselmouth?" the girl demanded.

"_I'm talking_!"

"Fine, be that way."

Julietta huffed. She was never going to get her information out before Alicia returned, at this rate. "Angelle talks to the cobra, right? And she somehow has this freaky telepathy thing with it. And she calls it Lilith –"

"Fitting," the boy remarked. Julietta glared.

"Anyway, the cobra's freaking evil. I think it's possessed."

"Maybe it's a horcrux," the girl mused.

"Lilith's definitely dead. We checked," Julietta harrumphed, sticking her nose in the air. "The cobra is just possessed by Lilith's ghost or something. I dunno. I just saw Angelle the other day talking to it all seriously. She's insane."

"A loco motherfucker," the girl affirmed.

"Be vulgar, why don't you," huffed Julietta.

"So you are informing us that your superior has gone insane and started talking to cobras that may or may not be possessed by the former leader of your factory?" the boy asked. "A fascinating tale, but –"

Julietta paused, holding up a finger and listening. There came the sound of footsteps from far away.

"Alicia," she hissed. "We will continue this discussion another time."

"All right," the boy replied breezily. "We shall."

* * *

><p><strong>Notes:<strong> Feel free to send in your take on the assignment if you are really that bored. The Staff need something to pick on.


	40. Come to the Dark Side, We Have Cookies

**Notes:** Sorry for the wait. I've been worried as fuck for a friend of mine who has pneumonia and has been hacking for a week. Also, my birthday's tomorrow so I guess this is the best window to get you all another chapter.

* * *

><p><strong>Part XV<strong>

Arthur did not look pleased at all when Alfred bounced into his classroom on Wednesday just after he collected the dialogue assignments. "I said come in later!" he snapped.

"What! This _is_ later!" Alfred feigned shock. The USUK fangirls cheered. Arthur sent him a dirty look. "You said come in later a couple of minutes ago!"

Arthur slammed the papers onto his desk and sighed. "Very well. Class, our guest speaker today is Alfred F. Jones, personification of the United States of America. He will be talking about Manifest Destiny today. Pay attention."

As Alfred started discussing the coining of the phrase 'Manifest Destiny' (by John L. O'Sullivan in the _United States Magazine and Democratic Review _in 1845), Arthur started sorting through the assignments. He opened a desk drawer to grab a pen, but he quickly noticed something else upon opening the drawers.

A note sat innocuously on top of his pens. It showed a picture of the Union Jack burning. Arthur's thick brows furrowed as he read the message below. His knuckles turned white; he grabbed the note and tore it up.

"Manifest Destiny is basically the belief that the U.S. should stretch across the continent from 'sea to shining sea'. Proponents thought it was obvious and inevitable, hence the term manifest destiny – Arthur?" Alfred had turned at the sound of tearing paper.

Arthur smiled cheerily. "Don't mind me," he replied innocently. Alfred frowned, but turned his attention back to the class. "Now, manifest destiny was achieved in the administration of James K. Polk…"

* * *

><p>"What was Arthur so upset about?" wondered Peter at lunch. Ursula grinned smugly from next to him. Lila and Kira scooted away from her.<p>

"No idea," Lila replied, "but Ursula's got her creeper face on."

"Yeah, desu yo, it's fucking scary."

There came a rush of feet, and suddenly Alakayie Mars the Time Lord (Time Lady, perhaps?) was at their table, an excited grin on her face.

"I got into the Nerd Group! Oh my god!"

"Results are up?" Ursula demanded.

"Just up!" Alakayie skipped off to regale others with her news. Brigid Hughes was looking enormously smug at the Australia table, holding a clipboard. Peter, Lila, and Ursula walked over to where she sat and looked at the list.

Lila screamed. Peter's eyes widened. Ursula paled.

"OH MY GOD, HOW DID THEY LET YOU TWO IN?" Ursula demanded.

"How did they not let you in?" Lila retorted, grinning. "Oh, wait, is it because you're an elitist and they didn't need to add to your brag sheet? It must be that. My bad."

"Oh, shut up!" Ursula sniffed. "There must be some fluke; I'm the smartest in our group –"

"You're also the most arrogant prick I know, to be frank," Lila replied.

Ursula flounced off back to their table, where Kira was snickering at her. Peter laughed weakly.

"Well, serves her right, I guess?" he asked hesitantly. "I don't think the Australia table can hold any more people…"

"I don't think it's a requirement to sit at the table any more, now that our ranks have expanded," Erika replied. "But if you are in need of a good discussion, feel free to join."

"Thanks." Lila smiled and pulled Peter back to their seat just in time for Samantha Marie Pappas to arrive on the scene to look at her results.

"Yes!" she whispered, looking around to make sure no one knew exactly how excited she was to make it into the same club as Erich von Richtofen-Marlowe. She straightened and looked at him from across the table, smiling shyly. He was absorbed in a German copy of Hermann Hesse's _Steppenwolf_, however, and paid not the slightest attention on her.

Samantha stalked back to her table, disappointed.

* * *

><p>Time passed, although most people didn't realize that until it disrupted their daily lives. It was surprisingly quick to fall into a pattern at IAHF – surprising, because every day strange things were happening all around the school. From the reinstated competition between Alfred and Ivan to stampedes and Mochi retaliation, things were never dull at the Academy. Never.<p>

Especially in the Staff Section.

"Still no new leads on the disappearance," Franklin reported at the G8 meeting halfway through January. "I've contacted our PPC Agents. Kitty says she's busy –"

"With what? Flowerslash?" Sara demanded. Merka twitched.

"No idea." Franklin shrugged. "Eledhwen and Christianne are on the job, though."

"Who?" Taylor asked, frowning.

"Agents Elerossiel and Shieh."

"Oh, Pointy-ears and Ribbons!"

"Don't let Christianne hear you call her that."

Mr. Allen coughed. The others turned to look at him. "Something to add, sir?" Franklin asked.

"Not really." Mr. Allen looked distastefully at the seat formerly occupied by Jennifer. "I'm starting to feel like she left on purpose. To avoid work."

"She did work her ass off last semester on the school-wide disappearances," Kriss mused. "A break should do her depression wonders."

"Maybe she's visiting family," Sara suggested.

"She hates her family; she wouldn't," scoffed Megan.

"I wouldn't say she_ hated_ her family," Kriss mediated. "They just annoyed her."

"Kriss, I wouldn't say I hate you, but you annoy me," Megan mimicked. Kriss waved her hand dismissively.

"In any case, we've done the best we can do to find her," she reasoned.

"Yeah, why do we care anymore? Nothing but depressing shit all up in here," Taylor yawned. "If she went to visit family, it's her problem. If she was abducted… well, we've already alerted the PPC."

Merka nodded. "Let's worry more about the Anti-England movement and their threats on the Arthurs."

"Threats?" echoed Taylor. "What've they been doing?"

"Vandalism in their classrooms, cookie bombing –"

"I'm going to find Karen and have a stern discussion with her about exactly whom she sells her baked weaponry to," Mr. Allen groaned.

"We haven't found the culprits yet, but we've pretty much put it all together as backlash against England's popularity in both fanbases." Merka rifled through her report. "People say he's overrated, too 'moe', too 'uke', too whiny, too popular, too Mary Sue –"

"They had Mary Sue complaints against Alfred and Kiku, too," Kriss pointed out.

"Well, as of now it's directed more at Arthur." Merka coughed. "Anyway, there are students mad at Alfred, too, but they're not bombing him because Alfred's paranoid as a bird about bombs –"

"Hey, the recent National Defence Authorisation Act was quite the giveaway," Mr. Allen drawled.

Merka nodded. "Yes, that and he's still in the Hospital Wing. I suppose the students mad at Alfred are Occupy supporters –"

"No, I think Alfred supports Occupy, too," corrected Mr. Allen. "He's more liberal than his government, probably because he's a millennial –"

"Only _looks_ millennial."

"True." Mr. Allen raised an eyebrow. "Charlie? You're quiet today."

"When is Hughie returning?"

"That's Mr. Hugh to you," snapped Mr. Allen. "He'll return at the end of the semester. The therapists at FicPsych are doing their job and I don't want you fucking him up any more than what is necessary – pun possibly intended."

Charlie didn't look convinced. "Right, well… I was talking to Gilbert last night at happy hour in the café and after he got some beer in him, he started discussing something horrible…"

* * *

><p>"It's been months, eh. Why are you still worried?" Matthew Williams asked Gilbert Beilschmidt, patting him on the back. Elisabeta Héderváry sat across the table sorting through pictures with SatW Austria. Gilbert kept on glaring daggers at the blond Austrian.<p>

"Well, in case you hadn't noticed," the Prussian ground out as he sent yet another dirty look at SatW Austria, "it was a fucking five-metre-tall rape machine in rooster form. If you had that thing after you at every given opportunity, you would have nightmares about it too, wouldn't you?"

"I'd run like buggery," Matthew replied.

"Same thing," snorted Gilbert, taking another swig of beer. "So, what does it matter that it's months old? It's fucking scary-ass shit and I am too awesome to worry –"

"You _are_ worrying, Gil," Matthew pointed out.

"Well, fuck that." Gilbert took another swig.

Elisabeta looked up. "Gilbert, what's this?"

"What's what?"

"Are you still having nightmares about that rooster, what's-her-face –"

"Sparkles McDesu? Yes," Matthew answered before Gilbert could say anything.

"Yeah, her, whatever your name is," Elisabeta replied.

"It's Matthew –"

"Trauma." Gilbert cut across Matthew, causing the Canadian to sigh dejectedly. "Don't worry your pretty little head about it."

"Excuse me! Can't I be concerned for once? Sparkles is dead, and you're still having nightmares about her –"

"It's hard and no one understands –"

"Bullshit, Gilbo! Have you been living under a rock?" Elisabeta was positively groping through thin air for her frying pan at this point, obviously intent on knocking sense into Gilbert. SatW Austria patted her back concernedly. "This is what happened to Mr. Hugh. He was having nightmares about Lilith –"

"Yeah, well, Lilith was a sexy bitch and I'd rather dream about her than a nymphomaniac chicken –"

"Lilith is dead, and until he went to FicPsych, Mr. Hugh was still having nightmares about her –"

Gilbert shook his head. "Look, I doubt I have the same problems as he, because he's not as awesome as me," he retorted, but deep down he believed Elisabeta.

Matthew patted his back again.

* * *

><p>"You're wearing that cologne again." Jennifer looked highly amused. R'lyeh crossed his arms and pouted.<p>

Now that they knew where to find the information on the Chronotransporter, they had stopped worrying about finding said location and started taking advantage of the situation – that is, if they hadn't been taking advantage of the 'no consequences' virtue of the time loop before, they were taking advantage of it now. R'lyeh must have nuked them into week seven cycles ago.

"I swear, it was Jack's sentient cologne bottle; it just attacked me and I couldn't fend for myself –"

"Bullshit. You're R'lyeh, destroyer of schools."

"That's not a very impressive title. I demand 'Dark Overlord of IAHF'. BOW BEFORE MY MIGHT, MINDLESS LEGIONS!"

"Your hair's combed, too. I'm impressed." Jennifer tilted her head to the side.

"And that was Jack's switch-comb; it popped out like one of Sweeney Todd's razors, tied me down, and combed my hair –"

"Oh shut up; you're too adorable."

"Fuck you."

"Ooh! Who's the vulgar one now?" Jennifer beamed. R'lyeh flipped her the bird. "I'm a horrible influence on you. I'm sorry."

"You should feel _all_ the regret, foolish mortal," the Lovecraftian city snapped. "I am starting to sound like one of you deplorable human beings –"

"Well, it's better than sounding like you've got a stick where the sun doesn't shine –"

"The sun never shines on me –"

"Well, at least we know you're not photosynthetic." Jennifer rolled her eyes. "So, where are we going today?"

R'lyeh shuffled from one foot to the other. "Well, I did visit the kitchen earlier and… well," he produced a platter from a passing plothole, "I baked you biscuits!"

"Biscuits," deadpanned Jennifer. "I did not know you could –"

"I could also make a delectable panda filet mignon –"

"A _what_?"

"A – Oh, never mind. See, I baked you these cookies from the souls of the perished and suffering –"

Much to R'lyeh's consternation, Jennifer started laughing at that. He filed the idea 'baking her evil cookies' under the category of laughable gaffs and glared at her, causing her to laugh even harder.

So much for going to the dark side for cookies.


	41. Return of the Bledstletoe

**Notes: **Have a very happy Christmas/Hanukkah/Kwanzaa/Festivus/Saturnalia/various other winter holiday that escapes my memory right now! All the best to you and yours for the New Year!

That being said, I do not own "All I Want for Christmas is You". Or Nargles.

* * *

><p><strong>Part XVI<strong>

As January ended, the snow only lessened somewhat. The new Homestuck Act had unfortunately called home the rest of the Homestuck characters at the end of January (timelines were now probably screwed up beyond repair, so the news had come as a bit of a surprise). The SatW Nations were still lingering, but they were scheduled to leave at the end of the semester.

"Did you hear about the corpse party?" Shoste Thermo was overheard talking to Regade Opacus one afternoon in February in the library (Peter, Lila, Ursula, and Kira were all trying to finish their essay on the Anglo-Japanese Alliance. Arthur and Kiku had assigned a joint History-Canon 101 project on the causes of the Alliance, splitting the class up in half to do the British perspective and the Japanese perspective. It was due tomorrow and most students hadn't even started the report). "Mr. Allen's not letting us go."

"Pity," sniffed Regade.

"I WANTED TO GO! I WANTED TO GO SO BAD!" whined Morgan LeFine. Matera Playte smacked her. "OWWIES!"

"He didn't say we couldn't go," the personification of Alternia pointed out. "He said we could go only as corpses."

"Some fun that will be," sniffed Morgan, trying to blow her nose on a juggling pin. "Gamzee won't want me if I'm dead!"

"Actually –" Shoste began, when all of a sudden a certain lascivious demon appeared at her elbow. "Not now, you bastard, go away."

"Oh, but my love! How time has parted us!" Blaise Asmodée, Prince of Lechers, flashed a devilish grin at Matera and Regade as well. "It has thrown me out of your heart and your bed –"

"And that is precisely why I broke up with you." Shoste rolled her eyes. "Get the fuck out."

"Don't be so cold, my sweet – "

"Don't you have some other girls to corrupt?"

"Fair enough. But I will return for you!" Blaise sidled off to hit on Alexis. Peter looked up from the project when he heard a scream in that direction.

Lila giggled. "I guess he didn't see Boris," she whispered.

"Boris is pretty protective of her," Ursula noted as Monaco shooed Blaise out of the library.

"Thought they were together, yo," Kira muttered, not even looking up from her doodles. Peter Kirkland filled the page, in various states of dress and undress.

"Well, yes, and no," Lila said, averting her eyes from Kira's doodles. "Apparently they had been dating prior to IAHF, and then Boris put down 'honey badger' as species on his form..."

"Your brother told you that?"

"Brother's fuck-buddy." Lila yawned and rolled her eyes. "The drunk one."

"Explains things," Peter remarked as Alexis kissed the top of Boris's head and scratched him behind his ears.

"I bet that LeFine girl's going to go to the corpse party," Lila said, abruptly changing the subject. "Dead or alive. I mean, Sara told me that Aradia had sent the invitation."

"Let me guess, she's a Homestuck troll."

"Pete, I've told you that about a thousand times –"

"Okay, okay, just making sure." Peter held his hands up in defence. "The school seemed really quiet when that car cat guy left –"

"_Karkat_," corrected Ursula. "Geez, even I know this."

"I don't think the school got any quieter, desu yo," Kira added innocently. "Screaming and explosions all the time, yo?"

Peter giggled – no, that wasn't a giggle; that was a manly chuckle of manly manliness – and muttered something about the incident a while back when some of Kiku's fangirls had come across a Mary Sue named Kiyomi Honda after falling into one of Ivan's Soviet Russia Abysses. In Soviet Russia Abyss, Mary Sue critiques YOU...

And meanwhile at the Homestuck table, Morgan LeFine was trying to come up with a plan to attend the corpse party alive.

* * *

><p>"Gilbert, Elisabeta told me a couple of weeks ago that you've been having nightmares."<p>

"No such thing, sir! Everything's fine. Don't trouble your head about it."

Mr. Allen frowned. Gilbert Beilschmidt chuckled weakly.

"I swear! I'm too awesome for nightmares!"

"I'm sorry that I couldn't get to you sooner, because obviously this is a problem," Mr. Allen continued solemnly, brows still furrowed. "The same issue had plagued my colleague for months –"

"It's probably nothing."

"You seemed more confident a couple of minutes ago."

"Look, it's a giant rooster. It's almost laughable."

"A giant rooster that wants to enslave you to its will, no?"

"How'd you –oh right."

"Don't deny it. Sparkles."

Gilbert shuddered. Mr. Allen folded his hands and looked at the Prussian expectantly.

"Do you think she's alive?"

Mr. Allen shrugged. Gilbert sighed.

"I... I'd hate it if she was alive. Don't tell others! They'll definitely make fun of me for all of this!"

"Of course not," snapped Mr. Allen. "Everything in this is off the record."

"Danke, Mr. Allen." Gilbert nodded. "What made Mr. Hugh have his nightmares?"

"Parallel dimensions. Lots of strange things."

"I can comprehend that; I'm awesome!"

"Right."

"Are you doubting my awesome?"

"Of course not, Gilbert." Mr. Allen folded his hands calmly. "I suppose we can only begin at the beginning, with the Multiverse Theory..."

* * *

><p>"I demand we do something for Valentine 's Day," Megan declared to the café in general on Thursday night, just before Open Mic Night. Merka had been examining the line-up – while it was open mic, there had been some students who had reserved spaces on the programme.<p>

"Like what?" Charlie asked.

"A dance!"

"Oh come on, Megsies, you already know that dances go awry over here," Charlie remarked.

"But it'll be such fun! I'll go call up Karen and demand she bring in Lucas so I can dress up the Angels as Cupids –"

"Oh, that'll go along well," snorted Franklin.

"And then you and Taylor and Charlie can also put on some fake wings and –"

"No! Absolutely not!"

"YES, I WANT TO SEE FRANKIE AS A GOD OF LOVE!" squealed Taylor at the same time, drowning out his boyfriend's protests. "SHOOT ME WITH YOUR ARROWS OF AMOUR!"

"Calm your tits," Kriss deadpanned. "We should just celebrate it like they did at Hogwarts that one year, with the singing cupids –"

"Damn it, Frankie's tone-deaf." Taylor pouted.

"Well, they'll be delivering valentines, both musical and on paper –"

"I see one problem," Sara drawled. "Wouldn't the poor Cupids be snowed down by the fangirl valentines?"

Kriss paused. "Good problem."

"I think we can ban giving cards to the teaching Staff via Cupid," Merka said thoughtfully. "It's a good idea, and hopefully we won't have some sudden school-wide Cupid abduction –"

"Now that's exactly what's going to happen!" Kriss groaned. "Merk, you've got to stop tempting the Ironic Overpower."

"Bullshit, Krissy-kins. What could possibly go wrong?"

* * *

><p>"That's not a candy cane in my pocket; I'm definitely glad to see – ugh, these human pick-up-lines are so crude." R'lyeh stared at his reflection in the mirror. He combed his hair meticulously once more, straightened the collar on his shirt, and adjusted the sweater vest. It was patterned with classy black-and-green argyle, of course. Nothing said evil better than argyle, right?<p>

"I've made a list, and I've checked it twice, and you're definitely on the naughty list tonigh – aaugh, this is humiliating."

He pulled out a gun but decided at the last minute that shooting the mirror wouldn't exactly be the best idea in this situation. Superstitious or not, he was not going to tempt the Ironic Overpower. Never.

"I just want you for my own, more than you could ever know! Make my wish come true – all I want for Christmas is you –" There was at least one good thing about being trapped in perpetual Christmas. Plenty of mistletoe to make his intentions look like an accident. Evil just didn't use pick-up lines. That was one of the top things on the list of Things an Evil Overlord Must Never Do. Evil did not need to rely on cheesy perversion to get its way. Evil used its evil.

But then again, the best way to get someone to like you was not nuking their school, and R'lyeh had done that at least twenty times now. Most other times he was too busy reading Alfred's collection of comics and playing his collection of video games to go into his Batcave of Thermonuclear Might.

R'lyeh met up with Jennifer outside the cafeteria. Once again, she raised an eyebrow at his appearance, but said nothing. R'lyeh felt slightly affronted that she made no visible effort to show her appreciation for his festively evil attire.

"It's Christmas," he pointed out.

"I thought you were a Lovecraftian monster who doesn't believe in peace on earth and joy to the world."

"I am just making a casual observation."

"It has been a casual observation for the past... how man cycles have we been through?"

"Not sure. I've nuked things at least twenty times..."

"And then we spent at least five rounds trying to find the location of the thing."

"Mayhap more than a week in cycles, yes."

"And there was that one suicide round..."

"Two of them; you accidentally fell on a sword."

"Shut up."

R'lyeh sniggered. "Right, then. We can hazard to say that we have spent a month in this everlasting Christmas time loop. I assume you are not opposed to spending another month?"

Jennifer laughed. "Barring the singing portraits and the exploding mistletoe, it's bearable."

"What about the insufferable Angel on the tree?"

"Insufferable to you."

"Admit it. The entire 'keep the Christ in Christmas' thing gets remarkably irritating after a while. After all, if we must keep the Christ in Christmas, we must then keep the Thor in Thursday –"

"And what about your Cthulhu?"

"He shall rise again and the world will know darkness like no other." R'lyeh grinned evilly. "Ph'nglui mglw'nafh Cthulhu R'lyeh wgah'nagl fhtagn."

"And what does that mean?"

R'lyeh shrugged. "In his dark house at R'lyeh dead Cthulhu lies dreaming."

They spent yet another Christmas Eve outside, because by midday the blizzard had mostly let up and the snow drifts were just begging to be trampled over. In fact, some of the drifts were screaming 'TRAMPLE ME' at the windows and passing students – obviously a side-effect of one of the Magic Trio's spells. They had just strung up their Bledstletoe, after all.

Several students were utilising the ski run down the side of mini-mountain Evrest but to limited success, because R'lyeh had gone through them at the first opportunity and created piles and piles of moguls and other tricky snow conditions. It was just a duty of evil, after all, to inconvenience every other skier and snowboarder who tried to use that slope.

"Ouch," said Lovecraftian city whistled as he watched Daisuke Saburo stumble and collide with Yuki-rin Oxenstierna. "Tricky snow conditions again! What horror."

"You're evil," Jennifer noted.

"Thank you, Captain Obvious."

'Where did you get that?"

"That Ursula girl, a couple of lunches back. She was talking to her friend, although I believe they are not good friends. Ursula does take pleasure in the thought of me maiming her."

"And why would you?"

R'lyeh unsnapped his skis and shrugged. "Her friend has not irked me yet."

Night fell once more. The cycle would naturally end the moment Workbitch and the Mary Sues appeared, but it was not often that R'lyeh and Jennifer ever got that far in the cycle. Usually someone would blow something up (R'lyeh) or instigate a massacre (also R'lyeh) or accidentally create synthetic cheetahs and purposefully sic them on the populace (unsurprisingly also R'lyeh). Jennifer generally found those incidents rather irritating, if the unamused look on her face the next cycle round was of any indication.

But this round was a peaceful round. They made it to nightfall.

"How many times do we have to go through the semblance of polite conversation?" R'lyeh asked as they took their spot at the Christmas party.

"Considering that we don't make it this far this often, I don't think we go through it that much." Jennifer replied, smiling. The acidic butterflies went crazy.

"Fair enough."

"And what would you rather do instead of converse politely?" Jennifer leaned against a nearby table, tilting her head to the side. "Blow up the party with a Glitter Bomb?"

"There are such things?"

"Well." Jennifer's expression was unreadable. "One of them crashed a Halloween party last year."

"The rumours are true, then. You lot simply cannot hold an uneventful party."

Jennifer laughed. R'lyeh shrugged and leaned in closer. There was a sprig of mistletoe right behind her; maybe if they just moved a little closer...

As if the mistletoe was sentient (it probably was, infested with Nargles and all), it inched closer and closer to the top of Jennifer's head. R'lyeh wondered once again what sort of crack school this was, with moving mistletoe and screaming snow drifts. Not to mention those Fluffy Mint Bunnies – he still had the scars from an encounter with one of them –

"I feel like you're trying to drag me into a cliché," Jennifer remarked suddenly, pointing at the hemi-parasitic plant floating innocently above her.

"It moved. The mistletoe moved."

"Sure."

"I saw it. It just moved." R'lyeh felt himself blushing. Considering that he usually had a light green tint to his skin, the result was hilarious. Damn it! Evil does not blush!

"You look like a Christmas tree, all red and green."

"Shut up."

"It's cute." Jennifer leaned in towards him. R'lyeh felt a strange thumping in his chest. Oh, so he did have a heart.

"Evil should not be cute."

"Fluffy Mint Bunnies."

"Abominations to nature. I intend on amassing an army of them."

"Good luck with that." He could feel her breath on his face. Why was this taking so damn long?

"This is ridiculously cliché."

"I just pointed that out. Took you long enough to realise."

"Shut up."

R'lyeh then closed the remaining distance between them, or at least, he tried to. His lips missed hers by a couple of centimetres; but she turned slightly to bring them together. A strange tingling shot through the Lovecraftian City; for a moment he was under the vague impression that he could fly.

Naturally, that was the Bledstletoe's cue to explode all over them.

* * *

><p><strong>Notes:<strong> Plot should be back on track by next update. Spring semester registration opens then as well. Happy holidays!


	42. Romeo and Julietta

**Notes:** Registration for Spring Semester is open and will probably close between next chapter and the chapter after that, depending on how quickly I update (sorry, a little obsessed with BBC Sherlock over here).

* * *

><p><strong>Part XVII<strong>

"Romeo and Juliet. Boy meets girl, boy marries girl, boy and girl kill themselves all within the space of a week. Not exactly the best example of everlasting love, but there you have it."

The Nerd Group was discussing Shakespearean tragedies. Peter and Lila were with them at their library table, trying to do their homework and listen to Erich von Richtofen-Marlowe talk about the tragic tale of teenage hormones with a straight face. Earlier, Erich had framed Hamlet as "the Lion King, only set in Denmark and with humans replacing the lions", causing Lila to duck under the table to stifle her giggles.

"He seems rather irreverent of Shakespeare," Peter had mumbled as Lila resurfaced.

"Probably one too many forced readings in school," Lila snickered.

"Don't get my brother wrong," Erika hissed from a couple chairs down. "He loves Shakespeare."

"Not as much as others like Brigid Hughes."

"Yes, well Brigid is –"

"I'm what, exactly?"

"You're…" Erika chuckled sheepishly. "You're very into your own heritage, if you know what I mean? Nationalistic, perhaps? Celtic pride?"

"Erin go bragh and all," Peter added lamely.

Brigid said nothing, shushing them so she could listen to Erich.

"Romeo and Juliet's story has been around for at least the Roman period, because one of the earliest examples of separated lovers who kill themselves because of irony is the tale of Pyramus and Thisbe by Ovid in his _Metamorphoses_. Pyramus and Thisbe are two youths in Babylon who live door-to-door. Not allowed to be married because of their parents' rivalry, they meet at a crack in the wall of their house to talk to each other."

"Aw, that's sad," sniffled Fayane Tyme. A couple tables away, Lila caught Ursula's eye and smirked. Ursula stuck her nose in the air.

"Pyramus and Thisbe arrange to meet at Ninus's tomb under the mulberry tree to elope. Thisbe arrives early but is forced to hide because a lioness with a bloody mouth has approached. She leaves her veil. Because of dramatic irony, Pyramus naturally assumes that the bloody veil belongs to Thisbe and that she has been killed – thus, he kills himself –"

"What the hell," groaned Daisuke Saburo.

"You only say that because you know something he doesn't," laughed Tamantha Smith. "That's the point of dramatic irony."

"The idiot." Daisuke crossed his arms. "If he'd only bother to check for footprints on the ground, he would probably have seen that Thisbe managed to escape the lioness because their tracks would not have crossed –"

"Thank you, Mr. Holmes, for your illuminating commentary," deadpanned Erich. "Continuing with our tale, then. Devastated, Thisbe also kills herself with Pyramus's sword. Their blood stain the mulberry trees red, and because this tale is a myth, it explains why mulberries are red."

"Because the Gods dye them red as a memorial to them."

"Exactly." Erich smiled at Samantha Pappas. She blushed. George Rowland snickered and elbowed her; she glowered at him.

"So Romeo and Juliet is practically plagiarised from Pyramus and Thisbe," she sighed after a moment. "That kinda sucks, doesn't it?"

"No, it doesn't," Erich replied abruptly. "Art influences art."

"Or, to clarify," Fayane interjected kindly, "Shakespeare was considerably influenced by the tale of Pyramus and Thisbe, and wanted to bring their affair to light in a more contemporary form."

"Like the new Sherlock TV programme in comparison to the Arthur Conan Doyle novels," Lila murmured.

"Exactly." Erich beamed at Lila. "Shakespeare took the story, yes, but he made it his own. The same goes for every story you have ever read. There are few original plots out there. Even the Harry Potter stories have a time-tested plot – read the _Hero with a Thousand Faces_ by Joseph Campbell if you're curious."

"Basically what Campbell says, though," cut in Erika, "is that your typical protagonist lives in an ordinary world. Family. Work. Food. Leaders. Knowledge. People can spend their whole lives in the ordinary world without venturing beyond. Now, the protagonist, in order to overcome a conflict, must pass a threshold – generally a threshold of great beauty – into the extraordinary world. Here, the protagonist will find danger. Truth. Ugliness. They will receive boons, find allies and mentors, and maybe even fall in love. They will prepare to fight the antagonist."

"They will fail," continued Erich. "They will fail, and fail, and fail – and they will probably regret even attempting to cross the threshold in the first place, because generally the hero will at first refuse to do so but eventually give in because it is in their nature and because if they didn't cross then there would be no use for the story. They will pick themselves back up from the depths of despair, and when it matters the most, they will win."

"They will win, but they will win alone. Or at least close to alone, because their mentors and allies generally will be ineffective against the antagonist. Only they can defeat the antagonist. But they do so, and they return to the ordinary world changed. There is a new status quo."

"There is also an unknown beyond the extraordinary world, a place of such danger and mystery that even denizens in the extraordinary world will refuse to go there. This can come in handy during the course of the story."

George Rowland raised his hand. "It's all illuminating, Erich, and I'm sure you love to hear yourself talk because I certainly do, but how does this tie in with Shakespeare?"

"It doesn't." Erich smirked and shrugged. "At least, not that I'm aware of."

"Well?"

"It's a good framework for a plot. Thought we'd discuss it along with Shakespeare."

"Fair enough." George leaned back and raised an eyebrow at Samantha. She sighed and rolled her eyes.

"Showoff."

"Oh really."

* * *

><p>The room was dark when Morgan LeFine slipped into it. "Hello?" she called, closing the door behind her. "Hello!"<p>

"Bit crowded in here, wouldn't you say?" a voice asked from the darkness.

"Crowded? How so? Too dark in here, I think," a second voice piped up.

"It's half-past midnight in a storage cupboard. What were you expecting?" a third voice drawled.

"The TARDIS?"

"Sorry to break it to you, Artie, but this cupboard is not bigger on the inside."

Morgan LeFine rolled her eyes. "I need something," she said loudly.

"Shh! Allen thinks we're a nuisance right now. We're not, strictly speaking, allowed to do what we're doing here."

"What, making a sex tape?"

"Piss off, Romania."

"Yes, I can certainly see why Hungary hates you."

"Yes, well, Hungary's a trigger happy bitch on wheels –"

"And you get mistaken for Edward Cullen at every turn so you can't talk. Now shut up, there's a fanbrat in here."

"I'm not a fanbrat," whined Morgan.

"Oh yes you are," the drawling person retorted.

"Prove it."

"You're Morgan LeFine, the juggalo who has no fucking idea what she's signed up for because she fancies Gamzee Makara from Homestuck –"

"How'd you know?"

"I read your mind."

"Arthur! You know we're not allowed to use inter-fandom tricks –"

"Who said we couldn't?"

"Uh…"

"Thought so. Now. You wanted something?"

"I don't just want it. I need it. With my life!"

"Oh, it's something worth dying for! Excellent."

"Romania, you're scaring her. Shut up."

"What do you need it for, then?"

Morgan tilted her head to the side, squinting into the musty darkness of the cupboard. She could faintly perceive three shadowy figures huddled in the back. Slight whispers of movement hinted that one of them was malevolently stroking something, something vaguely scone-like.

The Magic Trio may have temporarily been put out of public business because of the New Years' Eve Firework fiasco and the mid-January case of the talking toilets, but they weren't out of _all_business. They were thriving on the black market, although people often wondered why their 'love potions' only made the drinker sprout donkey ears for an hour and a half.

"I need it because of reasons," Morgan said after a long moment of thought.

"Sure, that's what everyone says. Who referred you?"

"Why don't we find out _what_ she needs, first?"

"Love potion for Gamzee Makara." A pause. "Doesn't work on Trolls, sorry."

"No, I don't want a love potion! Well, actually, I would like one. Just not one of yours."

"Why not?"

"They don't work."

"Your referral told you that?"

"Well, yes. And so did everyone else, really."

"Donkey ears are not our problem, love, surely you must realise –"

"Well, I need a… need a…"

"Poison?

"No."

"Pimple remover?"

"No."

"Oh, I wouldn't say no to a pimple remover. You clumsy little teenagers need that stuff for your oily faces."

"Be nice, Romania."

"Look, I need to attend Aradia's corpse party."

"So it _is_ a poison!"

"No, not really! It's like the potion in Romeo and Juliet!"

"A paralyser? Tranquiliser? Something along those lines?"

"Well, yes. I suppose. I mean…"

"Excellent. Draught of Living Death, essentially. You need something to feign death so Mr. Allen will send you over to the corpse party as a presumed corpse! How brilliant of you."

Morgan grinned in the darkness. "So you can brew something for me?"

"Art's the Potions whiz."

"What's the payment?"

"Your soul."

"Don't let Norway frighten you; a couple bars of chocolate and some lettuce for Sconey will do just fine. Chocolate's quite the commodity since that lightning storm last week."

"Yes, Mr. Allen was mourning the loss of the chocolate storage room."

"Poor bloke. Oh, yes, and before we forget. Norway wants some butter, too. Of all crises to have…"

"Can't help it." There was a vague shrug-like movement.

"I'll get that to you as soon as possible! Thank you!" Morgan backed out of the closet into the relatively brighter hallway, closing the door behind her. She avoided several Mochis and booby traps on her way back to the dorms, her mouth contorted into a shit-eating grin.

She was going to the corpse party! Oh, yes she was!

* * *

><p>Julietta stared at the screen. Alicia looked up from her reports to glare at the blonde. Julietta paid her no mind.<p>

"Venezia?" Julietta asked after a moment. "Where's Venezia?"

"Busy." Alicia shrugged.

"What about Francesca?"

"You're trying to avoid me again."

"Francesca's clubbing again, isn't she?"

"Answer my question."

"That wasn't a question; that was a _statement_."

Alicia frowned. Julietta had never known the difference before. Or at least, if she had, she never bothered to care.

"Something wrong, Julietta?" she asked, her expression softening. "Feeling okay?"

"Okay!" Julietta replied, a little too hastily. "Just… wanted to talk…"

"You can talk to me."

"No, I can't."

Alicia's brows creased. "And why not?" she asked.

"I… no. You scare me. That's all."

"I scare you." Alicia leaned back in her seat, steeping her fingers. "And nothing about paranoid little Vennie scared you?"

"She's… more sympathetic."

"Really now."

"Yes. It's just… no. Can't talk." Alicia noticed Julietta fumbling with her sleeve, her expression uncomfortable. She shook her head, sighing.

"If you want to talk, then…" she shrugged, getting up. "I'll get Venezia."

Julietta nodded, smiling strainedly. As soon as Alicia left the room she looked back at the screen, hoping to see the boy, the boy named R'lyeh on there.

She had always had such romantic ideas about her Romeo. Her Romeo was tall, dark, handsome, romantic – everything a Prince Charming would be. Everything a knight in shining armour would be. Her Romeo would ride in and sweep her away from this boring old Factory, away from her wicked friends –

She usually didn't think of her friends as wicked, but she had seen things differently. That girl had been crying, begging them to spare the secretary's life. _Please, please, I'll come with you – don't harm him, I'll come –_

The emotion had shook Julietta. The girl had loved the secretary, loved him enough to beg for his life. And it simply wasn't fair that the girl was snaking her affections towards the boy as well.

The boy. Julietta smiled. R'lyeh wasn't her ideal Romeo. He was tall, relatively handsome – not exactly a drop-dead lady killer like the Romeo she had in her mind (and that Romeo looked very much like Benedict Cumberbatch with a dash of Matt Smith, but she wouldn't have admitted that for the world), but he was cute, and that was what mattered – and extremely mysterious. He wasn't romantic, no, but there was the way he looked at the girl – a way that she wanted her Romeo to look at her.

That was all that mattered, in the end. Somehow. Julietta had to see him again. Had to tell him her feelings. Why was she even helping him? Not for the thrill of being useful, although that was an asset. Not for the chance to get back at Alicia for replacing Venezia. No. It was much simpler, wasn't it?

Bitterness was a paralytic. Love was a motivator.

* * *

><p>That was awkward. That was the most awkward and absolutely embarrassing thing that had ever happened to him. Because he sure as hell hadn't done it himself – the Bledstletoe had exploded on him, for Glod's sake!<p>

R'lyeh wanted to sink below the waves of shame and nap for a couple more millennia.

"Harder! Yes! Harder! Come on, you can do it!"

_Fuck you, I don't have opposable thumbs!_

"Come on! You call this your best? Yes! Thank you!" A splash. "Ouch!"

_You wanted me to pull harder_.

"Exactly! Look at all of these tangles. And ugh, my hair. Getting split ends again, I think." The mermaid ran a finger through her aqua-coloured hair, smirking. "Maybe I should turn it cotton candy pink."

_Don't ask me for help; I'm just a soul-sucking monster from the Black Lagoon_.

"Fishtail braid; we practised this earlier. Come on!"

R'lyeh opened his eyes. He was floating in the pool, the hidden swimming pool where Jennifer Lalonde and Annejo Ikm spent their days. Annejo was trying to brush and braid Jennifer's hair; judging by the sluggish way the brush dragged across the mermaid's hair, Annejo was not enjoying itself.

_My half-cousin removed thrice on the mother's side is here._

"All of you Lovecraftian monsters are related?"

_I'm not sure. It just sounded nice._

"What's he doing here?"

"Don't mind me, just trying to drown myself," R'lyeh called. Of all places to misplace his gills!

"What? Because you tried to kiss Jen Chang and the mistletoe exploded?"

"How did you know?" R'lyeh flipped to glare at her. "How in all the worlds did you –"

"Word gets around, you know."

"But… but this is a different cycle! I could destroy you two, for all I care –"

"And all that'll do is bring us back to the start. So nice of you to break the pattern." Another Jennifer stood in the doorway to the pool, arms crossed. "You weren't outside the cafeteria."

R'lyeh deliberately turned his back on her, feeling extremely self-conscious of his skinny pale body clad in baggy swim trunks. He could hear her getting closer to the edge.

"What the fuck is going on?" There was just so much more left unsaid in that sentence. R'lyeh could hear it. _Something wrong? Why did you run? Oh, you're worried, I see. Sorry. Was I a bad kisser? You did miss, after all._

"Nothing." _Everything. I'm getting a sudden urge to bomb the school, and you're not invited_.

"Changes nothing." _Ouch, that hurts. Well. There's still an unsaid proposition on the table, if you know where to look._

"Leave me alone." _I fucked up, didn't I? Don't tell me nothing's changed. You humans are so… ugh._

"Who's the depressed, childish one now?" There was a slight smacking noise. Jennifer was tossing something from hand to hand.

"Good show." R'lyeh still had his back turned.

"Something wrong?" Yet another voice rang from where Jennifer stood. But this time, the voice seemed distant. Recorded.

"Yeah, code failed mistletoe. I'm sure you've seen your fair share of that, _Mary Sue_."

"Who's the Mary Sue here? I really can't see a difference between you and me." The recorded voice sneered. "You like two men at the same time. The first one is largely past feelings and guilt, but there's still a little something if you bothered to beg for his life. And now you're toying with the affections of the second –"

"Wait, wait, I thought you were the dumb blonde one!"

"Was that an insult?"

R'lyeh recognised that voice. It was Julietta. She'd… changed, somehow. Probably read some books. Gotten smarter. She certainly sounded that way.

"Julietta?" he called, back still turned.

"R'lyeh, yeah?"

"Correct."

"Turn around."

R'lyeh slowly turned to see Julietta smiling from the Remote Activator in Jennifer's hand. "Hello?" he asked awkwardly, paddling over to the edge of the pool to get his glasses. Damn his farsightedness. "We have not talked in a while."

"No, we haven't." Julietta let out a long, static breath. There was silence. "I've missed you."

"Adorable." R'lyeh reached the edge and donned his glasses.

"Quite." Julietta's expression twitched in a half-smirk. "Alicia doesn't know I've been reading."

Suspicions confirmed. "You have."

"Well, there was nothing else to it. If I wanted my Romeo, I realised that I needed to be smarter. Wittier. Brainy's the new sexy; haven't you heard?"

"Boris may have mentioned it once or twice."

"Alicia's gone to get Venezia. She thinks I'm depressed and pining after Romeo."

"You are."

"Quite." Julietta stared at him intently, the expression on her face enough to give him the shivers. "Alicia left her documents on the desk. It all details these plans for something akin to… well… putting it lightly, a brainwashing camp."

"Really."

"Made for large-scale conditioning in true Aldous Huxley fashion, except on already-born subjects. I fear Venezia will be sent to it as soon as preparations are complete. At the same time, the Mary Sues are looking for the Chronotransporter because they believe that if they can travel back to before Lilith's attack, then they can somehow change the outcome. Lilith would triumph, and they would be able to install this… brainwashing camp… into IAHF, thus ruining the purpose of the school and twisting it about to the Mirror Multiverse standard."

R'lyeh nearly had to pick his jaw off the bottom of the pool.

"Cheerful, isn't it?"

"Quite." R'lyeh sighed. "I will be with you shortly, getting out of the pool –"

On land, Jennifer's eyes narrowed slightly, and she turned the Remote Activator back to herself. Julietta glowered at her.

"Don't even bother ogling."

"Not like you're not trying to."

"Fair enough." Jennifer's cheeks flared. "Look. I've got to ask you an important question."

"Right?"

"Are we really in a plothole?"

There was a moment of silence. Julietta seemed to be pondering the question, since her brain was actually functioning now. Jennifer waited. R'lyeh put on a blue flannel shirt and wrapped a towel around his hips, waddling back to Jennifer with a frown.

Suddenly, Julietta's expression morphed into one of horror. "Alicia's coming. I can't give you an answer."

"What? Why!"

"She's coming! I don't know!"

"Come on!" Jennifer's eyes widened. Julietta was messing with the screen, her expression stricken. Nothing seemed to end the communication.

Suddenly, another Mary Sue's face filled the screen. "Give it up," she snarled.

"Alicia, I presume?" Jennifer breathed. R'lyeh leaned against her, watching the screen with curious eyes.

"Yes. You have the location of the Chronotransporter, don't you?"

R'lyeh's breath hitched in his throat as Alicia backed away. Several Defectives were in the room, one of them restraining Julietta and the other holding a gun to her head. Another pair was holding back the Mary Sue dimly recognised as Venezia.

"Game's over, lovebirds," cooed Alicia. "Found out the _rat_in the team." She spat it at Julietta, who winced. "Even got smart on me so she could spy on me. You two are excellent trainers."

"We never did anything of the sort," R'lyeh denied.

"Liar!" Alicia's expression was livid. "I'll give you ten minutes to get me the location of the Chronotransporter. You have it somewhere; I know! A duo with such minds as yours could not require over a month to find it. I can't be fooled."

"How do you know we're clever?" sneered Jennifer. "I was a brainless fangirl this time last year."

"People change. Get smarter." Alicia shrugged. "No two ways about it. Books are dangerous things." She gestured to Julietta again. "I've proof right here."

"Still –"

"Shut up! Get me the location, or I will end it! I will end the two of you!" Alicia held up a music player, grinning evilly. "The nightmare will begin once I press this button."

"You're bluffing," R'lyeh snapped.

"And you have something I need. Don't you want to escape this… perpetual Christmas?"

The pair looked at each other. Jennifer started walking towards the door, R'lyeh grabbing his clothes as he followed.

"If you do not give me the location of the Chronotransporter within ten minutes, I will have Julietta and Venezia killed. And after them, it's your turn."


	43. Non, Je Ne Regrette Rien

**Notes: **Apologies for any disjointed-ness this might feel like since it's only been months since I last paid attention to this fic, right? Beware the mood-whiplash and the extreme ramblyness. Anyway, registration's now closed – thank you for the applications! (I am probably not going to make another sequel, so that was pretty much last call? If you have this burning desire to submit another fanbrat, contact me)

* * *

><p><strong>Part XVIII<strong>

_Nine minutes left._

R'lyeh ran down the corridor, one of many in the Staff Section. Jennifer's footsteps rang out a couple of paces away.

"Wait up!" She cried. He paid no attention, looking around for the right room. Aha.

R'lyeh kicked down the door. Actually, he didn't kick down the door; he got a stubbed toe, cursed in an ancient tongue that had Jennifer gibbering with fear behind him, and slammed the door open. Satow and Kane's room was exactly as they'd found it a couple of cycles back. R'lyeh ran over to the desk and started looking for the paper as Jennifer stopped to catch her breath.

"Well?" the Lovecraftian city demanded.

"Well, what?"

"Aren't you going to help me?"

"I'm a little out of breath here, in case you hadn't noticed."

"Breathing? Bah, breathing's boring."

"Shut up, Mister I'm-Half-Fish-Half-Cthulhu."

R'lyeh snickered. "Well, anytime you feel like being useful…"

"It's in the lower right-hand drawer under the diary."

R'lyeh stared at her and pulled out the drawer. Sure enough, it was there. The Lovecraftian City gaped at the Asian Anglophile, who shrugged.

"I memorised the spot, fish-face."

"What is it with you and calling me names today? Frankly it's alarming."

Jennifer clutched her side and wheezed, leaning heavily against the door. "You gave me a fucking stitch in my side; of course I'm pissed."

R'lyeh rolled his eyes, wondering if he was ever going to understand women.

He wasn't.

* * *

><p>Valentine's Day heralded several scantily-clad Angels and several more swooning fanbrats – and for once, the Staff was glad that they weren't the only ones being glomped and stampeded. Poor Lucas now firmly believed that fangirls were the hellspawn of the Devil.<p>

Strange how he hadn't strongly believed it before, what with his constant complaining about the sinful nature of the Academy.

"Valentine for Mr. Peter Hawthorne," sighed Michael as he handed Peter a card right after the exhausted fanboy had finished his breakfast and was heading for the Canon 101 classroom. Apparently they were going to discuss the Anglo-Japanese Alliance (something that might quickly become tradition, discussing that topic on Valentine's Day) and all of the Asakiku shippers had mobbed the lecture theatre in order to get the best seats. Kriss Kross was trying (and failing) to act as security. The Mochis did it better.

Peter took the card. It was from Lila; he smiled and read it quickly before storing it away. A couple paces before him Jack Ochoa was already staggering under the weight of a dozen tokens of affection. Peter was pretty sure he'd blackmailed half of the senders and charmed the rest.

He rushed into Canon 101 just in time to turn in his essay on Britain's Splendid Isolation period. He'd bullshitted a great deal of it and tried to copy Lila's for the rest, but she had shoved her textbook at him and told him to copy from there. Not very helpful, since her book was in German.

"So, today we're going to discuss the Anglo-Japanese Alliance arc and the relations that existed before said Alliance," Kiku stated calmly. "Open your textbooks; we'll begin with a recap of the Splendid Isolation from Arthur-san."

* * *

><p>"I'm expecting everything to go pear shaped any minute now," groaned Arthur. "It's been a while since we last updated."<p>

"The Headmaster's refusing to show his face. It's been Christmas for months," Alfred sighed, clapping a hand to his eyes. "And then I have to deal with Rick Santorum being an idiot –"

"Oh cheer up," snorted India, who seemed to be a bit jumpy – probably because Megan had attempted to proposition him ten minutes ago and was only restricted by an eye-rolling Merka. "What do you think of the current fandom trend of the second-player designs?"

Ludwig rolled his eyes. "Could be worse."

"They turned me into a psychopath and you say it could be worse?" Arthur groaned.

"They turned everyone into some form of psychopath, calm down," Alfred replied. "Where's Mr. Allen?"

"Said he was meeting someone." Arthur waved a hand dismissively. "I'm going to go check on my pirate self."

"Don't!" Feliciano, who had been sitting with Germouser watching him bat a ball of yarn, shot up with alarm in his brown eyes – yes, he'd opened his eyes for this. "He's inconsolable, ve!"

"It's been almost a month!" Arthur clapped a hand to his forehead. "I know it's tragic, but even Deerstalker me got over it."

"Deerstalker you is such a jerk," sniffed Alfred. "Actually deduced that I'd left the toilet seat up this morning. What a bitch."

"Hey!" Arthur coloured violently. "Don't say that about –"

"I heard my name." Deerstalker Arthur, who was surprisingly not wearing a deerstalker, stalked in with his magnifying glass in one hand. He scanned the room, frowning. "Nope, not here."

"What are you looking for? The Headmaster? He's been gone since Christmas."

"My deer have gone missing, and I'm stalking them," deadpanned the detective. "No, actually I'm looking for Wizard Arthur – I've got proof for the…" he trailed off, shrugging.

"Students in the Anti-Us fanclub?" Arthur demanded. "You've got to tell me."

"I will, in good time," sniffed Deerstalker Arthur. "Some of them were obvious, though."

"Elementary," cut in Alfred. Arthur sent him a withering glare.

"We are_not_ discussing Elementary."

"What, just because we cast Jonny Lee Miller as Sherlock?" Alfred cackled.

"You know how awkward it's going to be for him and Benedict, right?"

"Oh yeah, Frankenstein, how's it going? Yeah, perfectly fine, just playing a modern Sherlock Holmes. The BBC hates CBS for this; want to have tea?" Arthur sighed. "You better not fuck it up."

"Or what, you'll fuck me up? Fangirls might get a kick out of that." Alfred was positively grinning. "Don't worry; the Hero can handle this perfectly! Just look at what I did to Robert Downey Jr.!"

Arthur groaned. His detective counterpart left the room in a huff, obviously miffed at being ignored.

* * *

><p><em>Four minutes left.<em>

Venezia and Julietta looked at each other as Alicia paced the ground in front of the screen. The Defectives restraining them were expressionless, like dolls. Ugly dolls.

"Angelle's getting impatient with us. I know she is," Alicia said after a moment. "We'd promised her the location far sooner than this.

"All your fault," sneered Venezia, her eyes defiant.

Alicia glared at her."Forms, Venezia. Fill out the forms."

"What forms?"

"For the camps. Our first clients. It's going to be so exciting and so conducive to science…"

"Bullshit," Venezia muttered. Alicia rounded on her.

"_What did you say_?"

"Nothing."

"Good, because if I heard what I thought I heard you say, I will turn you into shoes."

"Make sure they've got stiletto heels."

Julietta watched the exchange with wide eyes. "Who's going to the camps?" she asked.

Alicia grinned. "You'd love it, sweetheart. You'll positively dance with joy. A happy ending for Julietta and her Romeo! At long last!"

"What the _fuck_ are you talking about?" Venezia demanded.

"Julietta's in love," Alicia mocked.

"She was always. Don't be daft."

"No no no, Vennie, she's not in love with just _anyone_, you know. And certainly not Fraser. Honestly, I don't see what you see in him."

Venezia bristled, but with a concerted amount of effort she controlled her voice. "And who would that be, then?"

"The boy in the plothole." Alicia shrugged. The door to the room suddenly opened and in came Francesca, coated in blood and Glitter and wearing an ostentatious fur coat.

"How was clubbing?" Alicia asked innocently. Francesca giggled weakly, collapsing into a chair.

"Clubbing? Oh, yeah, it was great. Lots of baby endangered seals. Finally finished my sealskin jacket!"

"Sick," muttered Venezia. "I will never understand why you love this so much."

"Well, I wasn't gonna settle for a bolero, you know," Francesca continued flippantly. "Once I started it I had to be in for the long haul, right?"

"Yeah, yeah," Alicia dismissed. "Don't move." Francesca promptly froze in place. Venezia and Julietta averted their eyes.

"Now what?" Francesca cooed. "Could you tell me why Vennie and Julie are being guarded?"

"Treason," replied Alicia calmly.

"Well, fuck you," Venezia spat.

"My place or yours?" Alicia laughed coldly. "Oh, I forgot. I don't _swing that way_."

"You're a real bitch."

"There are such things as fake bitches?"

"Yeah, Justin Bieber."

There was a pause as the denizens beyond the fourth wall were abducted and lynched by a mob of Beliebers.

"Not cool," Alicia remarked calmly. "Not cool at all."

Venezia tried to kick and struggle. The pistol burrowed harder against her temple.

"Only two minutes left!" giggled Alicia.

* * *

><p>"Valentines for Miss Mangetsu and Miss…" Jessie the Winged Person, who had been roped into the Valentines' Day mayhem despite not actually being an Angel, squinted at the card. "Miss the Awesome?"<p>

"I don't have a last name. I'm just Sara the Awesome, thank you very much," replied Sara snappily as she took the card and walked over to the Nerd Group table. Samantha Marie Pappas scooted to give her space; she was still staring at Erich, who naturally paid her no mind.

The day had gone by relatively smoothly, barring the incident in which Gloria Barber had attempted to tackle Michael to the ground – he'd escaped quickly, wings flapping, but she'd managed to pluck a feather and was now intent on framing it and hanging it in her room. Her roommate had long since complained to Customs and moved out.

Lila was holding her card and box of chocolates from Peter (Stan said that that was what girls liked on Valentine's Day, and Peter had hoped he was right when he traded in his Hungarian phrasebook – that he had_just_ obtained – for the chocolates on the black market) when he met her in the cafeteria at dinnertime. They avoided the flying scones (for once the fans weren't fighting over FrUK versus USUK but rather the viability of the fan-made 2P character designs) and made their way out to a deserted stretch of hallway, hand-in-hand and enjoying the relative silence. It was only broken by loud wailing in the direction of Lake Eric. Apparently Pirate Arthur still hadn't gotten over the last episode of _Sherlock_, season two.

"Semester ends mid-March," Lila said after a moment. "Then it'll be the last."

"I'm reminded of leaving every time I see the third semester students," Peter deadpanned. Already the wave of 'don't make me return to normality' was sweeping the soon-to-leave students. Wake the lolwat had tried to chain herself to a tree last weekend, screaming something about the Staff not going to be able to make her leave. Peter rather doubted it. If they really wanted them gone, they could just kill them and accidentally forget to resurrect them.

"A rather uneventful Valentine's Day, isn't it?" Lila laughed, entwining their fingers. Peter smiled sheepishly, leaning in to kiss her cheek.

"Yeah, but at least something awful isn't going to happen any minute now."

"You're just tempting fate."

He snorted. "Possibly."

They kissed, and for a moment everything was right. But of course, they didn't know that everything else was absolutely wrong.

* * *

><p>Morgan had managed to obtain the payment for the potion, and was skipping as she made her way down to the storage closet. She was going to the corpse party and she was going to find the Trolls and everything would be fine. Such were the woes of a student attending a Fanfiction Academy for the wrong fandom.<p>

She paused when she heard voices coming from a nearby empty classroom. Morgan started tiptoeing, trying her best to listen in without making it seem apparent.

"– They're saying that it's not working. He can't shut out the interference."

"Gilbert's having the same issues." Mr. Allen's voice rang out, grim and resigned. The other voice was feminine, calm, foreign. Morgan pressed herself against the wall and wished she could be a chameleon.

"First symptoms." The woman's voice quieted. "The rift between the two is closing."

"How do we prevent it?"

"We need to pinpoint the location of this rift." A pause. "Any news on the missing students?"

"None at all." Mr. Allen sounded weary. "Work was right. Being the sole Course Coordinator's taxing."

"Take a holiday."

"How could I? Hughie's gone."

"Call him back. There's no point to keeping him there."

There was a long silence. "Fine." Mr. Allen sighed again. "_Fine_!"

Morgan tiptoed away, not sure if she should have heard what she heard – no, she was certain she shouldn't have heard that; she just wasn't sure what it was about.

She reached the closet, stepped in, and presented the payment items. Chocolate, lettuce, butter. A light flickered into life, revealing Wizard Arthur's face.

"Here you go, then," the wizard said, sounding rather vacant, distracted. A phial exchanged hands. Morgan grinned in excitement.

"Thank you so much!" she exclaimed.

"Don't mention it," Romania muttered. Morgan quickly raced out of the closet, not noticing that Wizard Arthur was holding a list of names, the names of her peers.

* * *

><p><em>One minute left.<em>

"This is the dumbest thing ever."

"Silence."

Jennifer, in an amazing show of maturity, stuck her tongue out at R'lyeh. "You'll mess up," she growled.

"No, I won't."

"Sure. And the Earth goes 'round and 'round the garden like a teddy bear."

"Look, the coordinates are in code, right? It's painfully obvious what each component means. In a multiverse you need to specify more than just location and time. You need the code for the Canon and the code for any alternate timelines."

"Yeah, that totally helps."

"The code's easy to modify. We can keep the first three sets of coordinates and change the last one, which specifies the time."

"So we're not giving her the actual coordinates."

"Of course not." R'lyeh frowned at the paper and then at the Remote Activator. He pressed a button. Alicia's face appeared. "The code is VENEALTPOZZI431!" he shouted.

Alicia stared at him from the screen, eyes searching as if trying to detect a lie. Finally, she smiled languidly. "Thank you, R'lyeh," she cooed, reaching for the screen. "You may wake up now." She pressed something on the screen. The opening of some sort of song began to play. Jennifer nearly fainted out of shock.

"What is this?" R'lyeh hissed at her.

"Song by Edith Piaf," Jennifer replied quietly, taking his hands in hers.

"Which one?"

"Non, je ne regrette rien," whispered Jennifer, before grabbing him by the back of his head and pulling him down into a kiss. The moment his eyes closed, the world around them exploded into fragments.


	44. were all domed

**AN:** omg lyke haiiiiii dis is katee honda chaan hurr i hakked in2 lilyz acct! rnt i speshul?1/?

* * *

><p><strong>partxix<strong>

hi my name iz jnnifur faye chang and im a total bish i ditched workbitch 4 this guy named riley whos obviouzzly 2 gud 4 mi.

i haff long black hare dat goz 2 my kneez nd glazzes nd brown eyez that workbish sed sparkld w/teh light ov a thusadn suns. but uv corse dats not truu coz im also teh fat and uglee. im short and fat and stupid which is rather funny cuz ppl think im a mry sue and i totally am in some demented twisted way lol

i work at ihaf, teh international acadmy of hetalia fanfiction, under teh hawwwwt hughie-chan frazzer. hughie-chan looks lyke bendydick cumonmybaps (**AN:** iznd that how he spellz his naem?) so its no wonder y all teh mrry sus are panting aftah him. rclently tho ive been trapped in a dream bubble or plothole or sum shitt and coucldny get out until rleh and me gave teh mrry sus who capturrd us teh coodinates 2 find teh chronotranzportars wich is lyke dis timey wimey tardis in a box.

but now were awake in teh mrry su factory - in teh brainwashing campz!

"where are we" i asked rilyeh who wuz awake already.

"i dunno" he sed.

suddenly teh door opened and in came venezia vargus who wuz 1 of teh frazerbitches (**AN:** do u c wht i did thar w/ teh cumberbitchz? lol) and sed "ur here 2 b brainwashed"

"omg qut" i said

"wut" sed ryleh

"dis is a brainwashing camp theyre gonna turn u 2 in2 mrry sus."

* * *

><p>my name is allen kirkland jones and i am a usuk luvchild.<p>

im a clone of hughie fraser but he somehow is ten times hotter than me wich is not cool cuz im teh canon character sorta kinda and im the usuk luvchild while hes a ded diplomat

but then we both kinda look lyke bendydick so its ok.

anyweys 2 day i wuz talkin 2 agent eldwhen (**AN:** eledhwyn elwyn whaaaatevahhhh!11!lulz) and she sed tht teh multiversez wrurr colliding. speciffcly teh iahf versez.

tharr wuz us, and then tar was teh mirror multivurse version of us. theyy qur on a collizion course that started rollin since teh facktories decided 2 attk us last yr.

i wuz rlly worried.

"so this wuz showing up in our dreams," i sed 2 workbitch and eledwhen. "gilbery wuz drmming of sparklez mc desu and hughie quz dreaming of lilith and emma wuz dreaming of takara."

"but they werent teh right versions, or our versions. they qurr from teh mirror multiverse," workibtch added.

"thats a clear indikator that were doomed," i sed.

"not quite. there may still b tyme 2 keep everything separate. teh mirror multiverse vursion of uz wuz spawned at teh attack, when we defeeted lilith. that version is simmply wut wud have happened had lilyth triumphed."

"omg" i sed "thats so skary"

"i kno rite," workbish sed. "we must sotp them."

* * *

><p>meenwhiiile venezia led me nd rlyeh 2 a room which was white and sniyh and thurr wuz alicia vargas and she lookd maaaad.<p>

"those coordinates wrr fake," she yelled at us

"they were real; you just got 2 them a moment 2 late," rlyeh sad and i thout he looked rlly sexy saying that. he's like a blond eridan ampora (**AN:** but tad doesnt meen i liek hamsteak I HATEEEEEET IIIIT) and rlly cute but a total toooool.

"you will pay," alicia snarled.

"wut u gonna do, kill us?" i yelld.

"kill you? no dont be obviouuus," she sed meanly. "im gonna burn you. im gonna burn the HEART OUT OF YOUU."

omg i wuz soooo scurred. but rlyeh wuz vrry brave nd he said "u and wut army/"

at dat she laffed. "look ovah hrr," she replyed taking us to a window. it showed us a storage room in wich several mary sus stood. "theyre all deactivated. but they can become actif if you 2 try to escape or do anything suptid. u cants tooop us."

"yes we can" i sed "we defeeted lilith."

"liligh iznt ded." alicia replyed. "thers a part of her tht is still alive. teh lilyth in teh mirror multiverrse. she discovered us when satow and kane escaped frum her universe into ours."

"so?" i asked

"satow and kane stole teh crhonotransporter frum us. we were gonna use dat 2 create teh alternate timelyne dat this lilyth is part of."

"omg its so timey wimey imma puke," rlyeh snaped.

* * *

><p>2day teh studeynts wurr lurneing about mry suus. (<strong>AN<strong>: i dun carr if theres a schedule dat lily used its now mi story i do wut i want luzers)

"mrry suls are sooooo evillll." sed iggy kirkland. he hazz a totally sexy shorlok homms countarpart who wuz teh only conksuking detektov at teh skull. thys arthur, teh deerslayer (**AN**: iznt that wut teh hat is called) arthur wuz bussy trying 2 figure out who wuz treatening teh arthurs. in fact hed already figured it out.

thats why ursula klevins and all teh other iggy haters (**AN**: OMG HOW CUD U ENLANGED IS TEH BEEEESSSST. BRITYANNNYIA RUUUUUULZ TEH WAAAAVESSSZ) were mysturrsionly disappeaaared.

turns out teh mochis ate tehm all cuz im andrew hussie i do wut i want (**AN**: STILL NOT LYKING HAMSTEAK GO AWAY).

"yeah i kno rite iggy," sed alfred. "u must nevar rite a murry su. that is vrry bad."

"yes u must also not write us out of karactar." added francis. "honhonhon"

"and make surre 2 use gud grammar nd spllyng," sed matthew.

teh students wur verry bored. "omg this is so boring," sed lila kirk. she wuz very pretty but not as pretty as other ppl lyke my preshus babbu imogene.

"i kno rite," sed peter hawthorne who wuz a qt except for his acne dats gross.

"dis is a mrry su," sed arthur pointing teh bord where a picture of lilyth stood. "she is a bad gaiz."

"shes so pretty," sed morgan lefine.

"omg r u stupid shes evil," snaped faye markus who wuz a total bitch anywy.

"look whus takin," sed koda alyss d'amato.

"omg ur so meen," sniffed faye and she went 2 crai wish served hur right i bet she hasnt been laid by that creeper mighty major z in a long tyme.

"arent we having a history class 2day?" asked franklin mycroft livingston as he ate cake b/c mycroft eats cake ok. he hasz a evil little brother named arthur sherlock sherringford coming in next semester or smthing.

"omg go away mycroft no1 cares" sed heathcliffe sarutobi. of courrse hes lyke teh actual heathcliff and teh only person who rlly lykes him iz his girlfriend aki and thats cos he puts out for her teh manhoar.

franklan left crying.

"how did he get ont2 teh g8 and how did he get taylor drews garcia? i dun get it" sed elena jorgensen "i mean im like more sexy dan him."

"hahahahaha lol no" sed isabell. "besides taylor is gay"

"no hes bi hes with megan 2" sed stan south.

"omg no way" sed aubrey chee-ong "thats so weird being bi."

"STOP TALKING OR I WILL DESTROY U" SED ARTHUR SUDDenly. "ok lets go back 2 talking about mary sues in a way tht will help us establish moar plot ok.

"ewwwwwwwwww" all teh studenys sed.

"i wish i wuz back venice" sed didi.

* * *

><p>i portalled 2 teh fic psych 2 pic up hughie. he quz lookin rlly bord and next 2 him wuz emma.<p>

"sorry" i sed.

"you wurr tyrying 2 help teh schull its ok" sed hughie.

"so we bros again?"

"of course."

we went bak 2 wuz rather sad 2 leave hed been talking 2 teh scientists whu dropped by occasionally. 1 of them was lori starrett from teh dmse&r.

"lori's been keeping track of something serious" sed hughie. "the multiverse -"

"ya i kno," i sed. "eledhwen told me."

"that srs stuff. where do u think its happening?"

"I dunno." I sighed.

* * *

><p>but i knew where it quz happening. it qus happening rite teh mry sue factory. or at least tey were helping it.<p>

"wen teh univarses collide," sed alicia smirking "we will kreate a new 1 tat qill combyne both of them."

"but thats stupid," sed trlyeh "mrrysues will become-"

"will become teh good gaiz i kno thats the POINT, DOOFUS."

"omg" i sed. "we dont want that tho"

"u so silly its gonna happen anywey" sed a new voice. it quz angelle teh successor ov lilth! i nearly pissed mi pants in fear cuz she had a cobra wrapped around her. teh cobra started 2 speak in liliths voice.

"resistance is futile" it sed.

we qur verey sad as they took us back 2 our room but venezia suddenly came in after they left and sed "dont worry i told teh ppc already theyre gonna rescue us"

"u must b a trap" sed rlyeh.

"no i swear im not" sed venezia. "im hur to help u."

"y"

"b/c i luv hughie."

i rolld my eyez. "u and teh entyre fraserbitch legion". i sed."wuts teh mutlivers iahf lyke?"

"awfulz" sed julietta who quz with venezia. she hd blonde hare and she looke way prettyer than me. rlyeh didn't look her tho which made me happy. "there is a gurl named imogene who has taken charge of teh skull. and she rulls it lyke george orwell."

"u mean big brother," sed venezia.

"she rules it lyke mycroft holmes ok."

"but that means theres a lot of cake and there's... ok never mind. she does rule it like him. she even haz a buttiful castiel."

"wut lyke teh angel in supernatural with a lot uv butts?"

"no its a buttiful catiel omg omg castle stopppp." venezia looked super annoyed.

"anyweyz." sed juleitta. "after lilyth triumphed imogenes lyke teh governor of iahf or sumthin cuz after that lilyth took over all teh ofus or something and basically it's a shithole and its gonna collide with ur universe."

* * *

><p><strong>AN:<strong> DUN DUN DUN CLIFFIEEEEEE! OMGGGG WUTS GONNA HAPPEN?  
>NEWAYS HAVE A VERRY HAPPEE APRIL FOOLS DAY! LILY WILL B BAK 4 TEH NEXT CHAPPIE OR SMTHIN.<p> 


	45. Aftershocks

**Notes:** Back! So after I got kidnapped by the Doctor, we travelled in the TARDIS to 221B Baker Street and solved some murders with the Winchester brothers and –

Yeah, okay. I'll just shut up now.

* * *

><p><strong>Part XX<strong>

The aftershocks of the Canonquake – must have been a 9.0 on the Meir Brin Canonquake Magnitude Scale – were rippling through the school even the morning after Valentine's Day, as students and Staff alike attempted to reorient themselves.

"What the fuck was that?" Ursula Klevin eloquently demanded at breakfast. "I could have sworn we were projected a week into the future, but –"

"Shut up, Ursula; you're making my head hurt," Lila complained. Peter sympathetically patted her shoulder. "Besides, didn't you get eaten by a Mochi?"

"Yeah, at one point." Ursula groaned. "Stupid –" she promptly vomited all over Kira PandaStarz as the cafeteria shifted violently once again. Kira screamed in disgust and ran off to change (and possibly burn) her clothes.

"That's not a Canonquake; there haven't been any significant developments or contradictions in the Canon since Christmastime," Erich von Richtofen-Marlowe pointed out from the Nerd Group table nearby. He was sitting next to Sasha K. Everthorne who was eating all the bacon off his plate with much gusto. Being part-white tiger had made her cross-eyed; being part-tiger at all had made her prone to pissing everywhere in an attempt to mark her territory. Peter really didn't want to know how she'd been created.

"The Staff are calling it a Fanonquake," Stan pitched in helpfully. "Apparently it's something where _lyke ohmaigawd dis is so laem Im trying 2 rite here_ –" he suddenly cut off, blinking.

"What the _hell _was that?" growled Sasha.

Tristan Hunter squinted at Stan. "You be feelin' oll righ', matey?" she drawled.

"I…" Stan shuddered, looking unsure of what would happen if he opened his mouth again. "I… don't… know."

"It could be an aftershock of the _dats nut kawaii attt all u lozerrr_ – holy _fuck_." Tora Komaru Underlina clapped her hands to her mouth. "It's not letting us talk about… what just happened…"'

"What sort of witchcraft is this?" snapped Amitiel Arch.

_It's probably out to get us all_, declared Skye "What the Flying Fuck" "Cheeky T" Chikitty. _We're all going to die!_

"No, we're not. Shut _up_." Bree Fender growled, moving to shake the not-so-nice, cynical artist and writer. Skye bared her teeth at her; the faerie backed off with wide eyes.

Peter turned back to his breakfast (a continental American one, shockingly enough. He'd been so used to foreign breakfasts that he'd forgotten what a quote-unquote normal one looked like), sighing and rubbing his eyes. Lila trembled nervously next to him, looking too scared to open her mouth.

"It'll be fine," he said, although he felt anything but.

* * *

><p>Gilbert Beilschmidt woke up from a nasty dream of feathers and cawing to see Roderich Edelstein sitting at the foot of his bed, peering at him suspiciously.<p>

"Don't get all Freud on me," Gilbert snapped.

"No, really." Roderich tilted his head to the side, steeping his fingers into a thinking pose. "How long have you had these nightmares about Sparkles, Gilbert?"

"I just said not to get Freud on me!"

"Answer the question. We're rather concerned about your mental health."

"I'm fine, _dummkopf_!"

Roderich sighed and rubbed his temples. "Worse than I thought," he muttered. "Come on."

"What?"

"They just brought back Mr. Hugh from FicPsych. Perhaps a chat with him will help us clarify what's going on."

Gilbert clambered to his feet and threw on a Prussian blue dressing gown, following the Austrian out into the hallway. The Staff members in the halls were mostly quiet, anxious. Only a few were whispering to each other, and Gilbert caught snippets of 'nightmares', 'Lilith', and 'Fanonquake'. He squared his shoulders and marched on.

Mr. Hugh was in his room, sitting at his desk with his daughter asleep in the bassinet next to him. Gilbert entered; Roderich at Mr. Hugh when the Course Coordinator turned to greet them, and left.

Perhaps it was just a trick of the light, but Gilbert noted the lines on Mr. Hugh's face, the shadows under his eyes. The man was in sore need of a proper holiday where he wasn't worry his arse off about what was transpiring at his school. But before they could get to that, they had to get over this obstacle first. How utterly unawesome.

Better get this over with, then. "I hear you've been having some unawesome nightmares and frankly, I don't know why Roderich thinks making me talk to you is going to help you at all because I'm –"

"Totally awesome, yes, we know." Mr. Hugh swivelled in his chair and leant back. "But you have the same problems that I have. You're dreaming about someone who is dead, correct?"

"As long as no one decides to resurrect that dumbshit chicken, yeah."

"Well, thank god we aren't. In fact, that so-called dumbshit chicken may be a clue to the source of our troubles. Or at least that's what the PPC is telling me."

"Well, I hope they get that sorted out soon," growled Gilbert, taking a seat on the bed facing Mr. Hugh and resting his head in his hands. "I haven't had a decent night's sleep in ages, and what happened yesterday really _KESESESESESE IM 2 AWESOME 4 DIS PLAYCE_ – _HOLY MOTHER OF GOD_ WHAT THE _FUCK_ WAS THAT?"

Mr. Hugh raised an eyebrow. Gilbert sat upright, eyes wide in alarm. He clutched his head, looking on the verge of tears.

"I'm going insane, aren't I? I'm turning psycho! I'll drag all of you down with me, I swear!"

"Calm down, Gilbert. This has happened to everyone when they tried to talk about You-Know-What," Mr. Hugh soothed. "It's all right."

"NO, IT'S NOT! IT'S NOT OKAY!" Gilbert screamed. At the sound of that the door to Mr. Hugh's room banged open and Mr. Allen strode in quickly followed by a retinue of Nurses. "No, it's NOT OKAY and WHERE THE HELL DO YOU THINK YOU'RE TAKING ME?"

"Hospital Wing," Mr. Allen snapped. As the Nurses manhandled the Nation out of the room, Mr. Allen turned to Mr. Hugh.

"Look at that," Mr. Hugh sighed. "Insanity. It'll happen to everyone if we don't act."

"I'm sorry."

"You did what you thought was right."

The two lapsed into silence for a moment. After a while, Mr. Hugh spoke up again. "So, the You-Know-What. Did Eledhwen warn you about it?"

"She grossly underestimated it," Mr. Allen replied. "Said it was closing but… really, it seems like it's already closed."

"What with _that_ going on, yes. I see." Mr. Hugh clapped a hand to his forehead. "I need a holiday to recover from my 'holiday'. Is that legal?"

"Join the fucking club."

They laughed at that for a moment, but then yet another aftershock echoed through the school.

* * *

><p>"Tell me again – how the hell were you able to understand what went on during that… whatever the fuck that was?" Megan threw her hands in the air, crossing the meeting room and flumping down into her seat. Charlie Tenterden shrugged.<p>

"I read the Words," he replied. "I can't really tell you what I did, can I? Not with the stupid censor thing that's going on. You think what happened could have affected the censors?"

"You mean is Lucas Arch suddenly going to be able to proselytise?" Megan frowned. "Lemme try that. _Om trayambakam_ –" as she continued to chant the Hindu prayer, inexplicable loud noises started happening elsewhere in the Staff section in a way that disconcertingly drowned out all of Megan's words.

"So that's working," Charlie remarked as Franklin Mycroft Livingston and Taylor Drews-Garcia entered. "No news from Kriss and Merka?"

"They've quarantined themselves in that empty office nearby Customs, trying to find the source of the Fanonquake. No results just yet."

"Cheerful," muttered Charlie, as Megan finished the chant and nodded.

"Yup, religious censors still in place."

"So then, what was that?" Taylor asked, looping his arm around Franklin.

"Please, why are we still asking what the hell it was? We know it's a Fanonquake but we don't know where it came from or why it's here or how it _oh my gawd I lyke need cake sooooooooooo badly taylor hold me bby plz I cant cope w/ teh lack ov cake in mi lyfe_ –" Franklin blinked.

Megan whistled. "Holy shit, get the salt."

"I… what the hell." Franklin threw his hands in the air. "This happened to me in the Fanonquake, too. I give up." He stood up, huffing. "I don't care if I'm allergic to eggs and enriched flour; I'm going to eat cake because apparently someone really, really wants me to."

Megan snorted. "You're being ironic, right?"

"No shit, Sher –" Franklin cut himself off before he could finish. "Yes."

"Fanonquake's getting to your head, darling," Taylor cooed. "Don't let it get ya down!"

"You're a fat load of help!"

"What're you trying to imply? That I'm fat?"

"I'm going to just… go find Kriss and Merka again. Don't bother looking for me unless they turn up and say I wasn't with them." Franklin stalked out of the room; Charlie and Megan snickered at him as he left.

"Where've Sara and Andy gotten to?" Taylor asked after a moment. "Sara had a report she was supposed to turn in, and Andy was supposed to bring us coffee."

"They're probably having end-of-the-world sex or something," Megan replied, rolling her eyes. "I certainly feel like I should be doing that."

"Please, don't."

"Wow, that's a first, Charlie. You sure you're feeling all right?"

"Probably just… you know. Whatever." Charlie blew a raspberry. "Hughie back yet?"

"Yeah, actually, he is! Didn't you hear Gilbert yelling?"

Charlie's expression lit up like a Christmas tree. A very gay, rainbow-drenched Christmas tree. "Oh, good, I need to go say hi!" he exclaimed, leaping out of his seat and tearing out of the meeting room. Megan and Taylor looked at each other, rolling their eyes.

"Report?" Taylor asked.

"Meh, I BSed part of it." Megan tossed a packet of paper at him. "Have fun."

* * *

><p>Jennifer rubbed her eyes, wondering if the super-surreal earthquake-plus-badfic thing had been part of the… whatever the hell she was going through right now. Plothole, dream, whatever. She groaned and sat up, opening her eyes only to wish she hadn't.<p>

The room was Bled. Blinding, nauseating, eye-bleeding Bled.

"What the –" she muttered.

"It's awful, isn't it?" R'lyeh's voice remarked from next to her. She turned; he was wearing an extremely tacky pair of Ray-Bans.

"Where the hell did you get those?"

"Somewhere," the Lovecraftian City replied innocently, tossing her a pair.

"Cheers."

"So, where are we?"

"Never seen a place like this in IAHF so I assume we're still at the Factory."

"!#$$#%$$#%$#%$," replied R'lyeh.

Jennifer frowned. "Never heard that before. How exactly do you pronounce those symbols?"

"Trade secret." R'lyeh yawned. "From what I heard in the conversations outside this room – the walls are paper-thin, so I heard practically everything – this place is a special new wing in the Mary Sue Factory."

"Designed to do what?" Immediately Jennifer jumped to the worst-case scenario.

"Oh, a little brainwashing. I'd like to see them try it with me."

"Don't tempt fate," Jennifer muttered.

"What exactly happened earlier?"

Jennifer donned the glasses and stared up at the highly-muted ceiling. "It should've been obvious, no?"

"I'm not as well-versed in these… things… as you are."

"Yeah, no, I don't know." Jennifer huffed and crossed her arms. "Certainly didn't sound good, though."

At that moment the door to their room opened and Alicia Vargas strode in, eyes furious.

"Before you ask, I'm only going to reiterate what I said during the earthquake," R'lyeh replied casually. "They were real ones; you just got there a moment too late."

"Shut up, snivelling worm!"

"Oh, that's so cliché! I'm going to cry myself to sleep tonight!"

Alicia would have taken off her extremely bloody and stiletto heels and thrown them at him, but she was obviously reining herself in. "I've half a mind to feed you to the boss's pet snake," she growled.

"Oh, you've half a mind alright," snickered R'lyeh. "Possibly less."

Jennifer wondered if it really was the time to be smart-mouthing a murderous Mary Sue who had the means to maul them. She weighed over the pros and cons of stopping him, and then decided to let him continue for her entertainment.

"I hope you value your virility because as soon as Angelle allows me full rein over this experiment I will chop off your balls and make you a milkshake of your unborn children," Alicia huffed, and Jennifer gagged partly from disgust and partly from giggling too much. "And you!" The Sue whirled towards her. "Control your pet!"

"He's not my pet," Jennifer stated bluntly.

"No, but I bet you'd like to see him in a collar."

"Wow, um, no." Jennifer raised both eyebrows; she could practically feel her face turning green. "Not all of us are kinky masochistic bitches who'd like to collar Lovecraftian monsters for shits and giggles."

Alicia rolled her eyes. "Whatever it is, I can't send you back to give me the right coordinates. So now the two of you are completely useless and possibly a liability. But we can't exactly kill you, since we really do need everyone we can get –"

"You think we're going to join you!" Jennifer had never heard such ludicrous notions in her life.

"No, didn't you hear what goes on here?" Alicia snickered. "A little brainwashing, and then you'll be _begging_ to join us."

* * *

><p><strong>Notes: Meir Brin<strong> is the amazing author of the Hogwarts Fanfiction Academy which, like IAHF and OFUM, is suffering the Curse of the OFU Sequels. But in any case she is possibly the first OFU writer to use Canonquakes, so naming the scale after her seemed fitting.


	46. Deerstalker Arthur Ruins Cluedo

**Part XX**

"No, please, have mercy! Please! Don't make me watch 'Friday' anymore!"

_Friday, Friday, gotta get down on _–

"STOP IT! PLEASE!"

The images on the screens flashed out, and then the faces of a certain British boyband appeared.

_Baby you light up my world like nobody else _–

"MAKE IT STOP!"

Jennifer and R'lyeh could hear both the music and the screaming from their room. Alicia had just left them; with every passing minute the anxiety bubbled in Jennifer's stomach until she was fairly certain she had an ulcer.

"One Direction's not as bad as Friday, though," she pointed out to R'lyeh, who rolled his eyes.

"Please. Rebecca Black is probably some long-lost child of Tru'nembra, capable of causing instant insanity through her song," he deadpanned. "A mere boyband that can at least carry a tune in their buckets pales in comparison."

"What about Tonje Langeteig?"

"Also another lost Eldritch God of Not Being a Crappy Housewife."

"And Double Take?"

"Bastard spawn of sixteenth-cousin-twice-removed Yidhra."

"You're kidding, right?"

R'lyeh snorted. "I could be. Haven't checked the family tree since last millennium."

_Hot girls we have problems too! We're just like you, except we're hot – _

"My god, how flat can you get?" Jennifer demanded as the song was swiftly drowned out in screaming. Thank glod it was still February and the general public hadn't been inflicted with it. Yet.

"Almost reminds me of that time Cthulhu and Azathoth had a singing contest. Might have been responsible for a near extinction of the human species, if someone hadn't been clever enough to stick cork in their ears…"

Jennifer snorted with laughter at that, but she quickly pulled on a poker face as the door to their room opened and a wild-eyed girl came stumbling in. She wore the Defective costume; her hair was frazzled and her makeup smeared.

"Help… me…" she moaned, before collapsing to the ground in a dead faint. Moments later a Mary Sue nurse rushed in, seizing her by her ankles and dragging her back out.

"So sorry about this, handsome," she told R'lyeh, winking at him. The Lovecraftian City frowned. "This little good-for-nothing bitch is trying to escape her procedures!"

"She was the one being forced to listen to Double Take?" Jennifer demanded.

The nurse scowled at her. "No one asked you," she retorted.

"No, Jennifer, let me handle this." R'lyeh cleared his throat. "She was the one being forced to listen to Double Take?"

"Yes; isn't it a good song?" the nurse squealed, beaming cheerily. "It's my favourite!" She paused, peering at them curiously through huge blue-green-grey-hazel-whatever-the-fuck-it-is eyes. They could almost be classed as chibi eyes; they took up a good deal of her face. "Aren't you the two in the plothole?"

"Possibly." R'lyeh shrugged.

"Oh, well, procedurals start tomorrow for you two! I can't wait; we're going to be such good friends!" And with that, she skipped away dragging the body of the Defective along behind her.

Jennifer shuddered.

* * *

><p>"Oh god, Feliciano, put those period chopsticks away. You're putting me off."<p>

The Allies and Axis were gathered around a Cluedo board – well, the Allies except Alfred and Ivan, who were still plotting something in the corner. Chances are the Evil Plot was either going to demolish the entire school, or they were going to have a fall-out and destroy the entire school.

Somehow, though, the Evil Plot involved Wizard Arthur's occasional input.

But back to Cluedo. Arthur was squinting at the board, as if trying to get the cards in the envelope to reveal the answer through sheer concentration. Francis was chuckling to himself. Yao was scribbling away at his paper. Kiku was staring at Miss Scarlett's piece as if it had personally insulted him, and Ludwig was trying to get Feliciano to stash away the notorious 'period chopsticks'.

"You think the Arby's is going to let us get five cats for five Deutschmarks again? I'm a bit hungry," Ludwig asked after a moment. Indeed, through mysterious circumstances a fully-stocked Arby's restaurant had appeared next to the Café Foscarini a couple days after the Fanonquake. Except fully-stocked in this case meant fully-stocked with cats, not hamburger-making supplies. Predictably Heracles Karpusi spent most of his time in there.

"Why would you eat cats?" Kiku asked, frowning as he rolled the dice.

"Good point." Ludwig frowned and leaned back from Feliciano as the Italian started jabbing him with the period chopsticks.

"Poke, poke, poke!" Feliciano giggled.

"Feliciano, if you're not going to play Cluedo you could go… make pasta or something," Francis suggested. "I mean, Ludwig _is _hungry, after all."

"Oh did I forget to congratulate you on _The Artist_?" Feliciano wondered as he got up and saluted Francis. "It was very pretty!"

"First silent film to win Best Picture at the Oscars since 1929," agreed Kiku. "Very good job."

"_Hugo_ totally stole the spotlight, though," Arthur pointed out as Feliciano left ostensibly to go make pasta. "And _Harry Potter_ won nothing despite such publicity."

"Shame." Kiku sighed, staring at the board once more. "Green-san, with the dagger, in the hall." He looked over at Yao, who frowned.

"I got nothing, aru," he said.

"Here." Francis slid Kiku a card. The Japanese man looked at it, nodding.

"Oh my god, you guys. Can this get any more obvious?" Deerstalker Arthur had barged into the room, staring incredulously at the Allied-Axis game of Cluedo. "Dr. Black, in the library, with the rope."

"The victim couldn't have done it," Arthur groaned. "How many times do I have to tell you that?"

"It's obviously an elaborate scheme to frame someone for murder despite it obviously being a suicide – I mean, look at the –"

"No, please. Stop." Arthur huffed. "It's great that you've helped us catch the students in the Anti-Us club, but that doesn't give you licence to insult a game we're trying to play here."

"Fine!" Deerstalker Arthur sniffed. "I'll go throw myself off the Reichenbach, then!"

"Please don't. Switzerland will have my head," Arthur deadpanned. "Go pester Pirate me."

As Deerstalker Arthur stalked away in a huff, Francis rolled his eyes.

"And you keep on saying that Dupin is worse _how_?"

"He's French," replied Arthur as if it explained all. Francis snorted.

"I'll have you know we can be very competent detectives –"

"Please. Inspector Clouseau?"

"Like your Johnny English is any better –"

"He's a spy, not a detective! Get it right, you incompetent bastard!"

Yao chose that moment to roll the dice very loudly, causing Francis and Arthur to divert their attention back to the game.

"Scarlett xiao-jie in the dining room with the dagger," he said, looking pointedly at Francis. The Frenchman sighed and gave him a card.

"Current event business seems to be catching up," Francis continued as he rolled the dice. "I mean, did we or didn't we note the death of Gaddafi and the overthrow of his government? It's been quite the blur since we returned from Venice."

"The war ended in October, so yeah, it happened while we were gone," Arthur sighed. "Egypt's still got a cold."

"Syrian protests still ongoing, still violent," Francis nodded. "Alfred's presidential candidates are hilarious. Rick Santorum thinks he's going to ban porn."

"Like that'll happen," snorted Arthur. "Where would you be if the U.S. suddenly decided to remove all of its pornographic domains?"

"Please. Like I watch crass videos of humans rutting against each other like animals in heat. I prefer things with a bit more _class_." Francis consulted his list. "Professor Plum in the study, with the _clé anglaise_."

Arthur scowled. "Why do you call it that, though?" he demanded. "English key? Are you insinuating that only I use spanners?"

"Possibly," Francis replied, grinning. "You got anything, though?"

Arthur rolled his eyes and handed him the card.

* * *

><p>With current events still catching up to IAHF as it moved out of February and into March, the students found themselves buffeted by the winds of protest. Food fights extended into lunchtimes as well as dinnertimes, but lunch fights were usually over non-shipping topics. The 2P characterisations were still up in the air, even if no one had actually seen 2P Staff members.<p>

"I bet Faye's the only person in the school who actually supports SOPA," Alison Frazier snickered at lunch as a food battle raged over the ongoing SOPA debate. Many of the American students were fanatic about the protection of the Internet; a couple dissenters had been quickly pelted with éclairs. Some people had got it into their heads that the U.S. Government would ban fanfiction if SOPA and PIPA were passed. The hearings drew nearer.

"She's also probably the only person who would vote for Rick Santorum," agreed Nathalie Schön.

"I'm sure the Angels would, too," Melissa N. Rohart sneered.

"Lucas might, but Michael and Cain are cool and probably won't," Ulriche, who was feeling very female today, chipped in.

Meanwhile, in the midst of the food fight, Jewel Freddrickson screamed, "PIRACY ACTUALLY HELPS BOLSTER SALES, DUMBASS!" She may have claimed to be a 'GREEK GODDESS THAT PROTECTS ALL HETALIA NATIONS!' but Customs had obviously denied her that, merely giving her the unnatural ability to sprout rainbows wherever she went. It wasn't very handy for trying to sneak into the Staff Section.

"BULLSHIT! SINCE WHEN HAS THAT HAPPENED?" demanded Faye Markus. "FREAKS LIKE YOU KEEP ON ILLEGALLY DOWNLOADING STUFF AND –" She was quickly silenced by a blancmange to the mouth. Alex Riddle snorted.

"Neil Gaiman said that sales for his other books actually increased after someone leaked a copy of one of his newer books in Russia," she pointed out.

"Wasn't he the one who suggested inviting writers to seductions?" Aelita Elric asked, frowning. After all, several of the students had gotten it into their heads to write notes to their Lust Objects saying 'YOU ARE INVITED TO A SEDUCTION. PLEASE COME TO DINNER ON FRIDAY NIGHT WEARING THE CLOTHES YOU WOULD LIKE TO BE SEDUCED IN', but obviously none of the aforementioned Lust Objects ever received the notes. However, as Stanley might attest to, some of the students themselves had been seduced in such ways. Adia Nitha Lorenzo, for example, had received such an invitation from Mizuno Karlton, since both were very much the angsty emo kids of IAHF.

Peter had considered sending one to Lila, but chances were her brother would naturally assume the very worst if he got wind of it, and then before anyone knew it various Peter-bits would be scattered all over campus. Not a nice thought. Right now, though, he and the other Oddballs were sitting off to the side, trying to avoid being hit by various French pastries.

"What's after lunch, desu yo?" Kira asked through a mouthful of crêpe. Ursula grimaced at her.

"I think we're doing Crossovers?" Lila asked. "How'd you do on the Current Events test?"

"Miserable failure. I couldn't write anything about the… You-Know-What, desu yo."

"Please. None of us could. Which was probably why Shinbun used it as a question," Ursula scoffed. "But the question about the Anti-England –"

"That was you, wasn't it? You're the one who tagged the Rome-Wall last week with 'ENGLAND IS A SMARMY GIT'," Peter asked suddenly.

"I've no idea what you're talking about. Did you see the Bled Pinja tag on the side of Pirate Arthur's ship?"

"The 'I BELIEVE IN SHERLOCK HOLMES' one? Please. It's all he'll ever talk about, according to Alexis." Lila snickered. "Poor sod."

"I hear they've gotten their hands on something dangerous from that show, though." Ursula continued. "I wonder –"

"Miss Klevin!" A loud voice broke through the silence. The Sexy British Accent stirred heartstrings all around. Ursula groaned.

Wizard Arthur parted the crowd with his star-topped wand and towered over Ursula, one eyebrow raised unamusedly.

"Hello," Ursula drawled.

"I've a warrant of arrest for you," the wizard snapped. "Come along now."

Peter and Lila exchanged dark looks as Ursula got up and followed Wizard Arthur out of the cafeteria. Kira frowned.

"What'd she do now, desu yo?"

* * *

><p>Mr. Allen stared intently at the papers tacked to his wall. Next to him, Franklin Mycroft Livingston finished taping up his timeline from the start of the school year.<p>

"Alternate timelines," Franklin noted, pointing to the newest additions to the timelines. "We created an alternate Venice with the Chronotransporter, which, by virtue of being a time machine, can generate all sorts of alternate timelines for everything. Possibly even an alternate timeline IAHF."

"And what about the Mirror Multiverse?"

"It's an alternate timeline of a sort. Perhaps it can be designated as the very first alternate timeline created for any such event or place or… whatever. The Mirror Multiverse flips everything around and wreaks havoc."

"Obviously. But what's going on right now? With the Fanonquake and everything?"

"_Lyke, ohmaigawd, dis is ttly not kool and I just ttly brke my nail_," Franklin instructed, scrawling out what he had intended to say on the papers tacked to the wall. "_Wat, its not lyke I lyke Lestrade or anything hes just supah hawtt and stuff. Ah la vie, la vie, beaucoup de parapluies_. _Im Mycroft poppins an I do qat I want_."

Mr. Allen snickered, but sobered up very quickly as he read what the G8 member was writing.

"Ah."

"That would explain the dreams."

"I'd suspected as much. In fact, I think I've suspected it ever since Mr. Hugh started having the nightmares, but I wasn't sure. So you're saying that the Mirror Multiverse Takara, Lilith, and Sparkles are talking to Emma, Mr. Hugh, and Gilbert?"

"Yes. Through their dreams. Yes."

"Eledhwen said that was a symptom of something. Something about the closing of a rift. I think a lot of information was dropped during the Fanonquake, but…" he sighed. "I don't want to remember any of it."

"Please, you weren't the one begging for cake." Franklin pushed his glasses up and stared at the timeline. "What Eledhwen must be referring to are the Prime and Mirror Multiverses. Somewhere, an alternate timeline of IAHF is about to collide with us. That'd explain our lapses in grammar every time we try to discuss… You-Know-What."

The door to Mr. Allen's room banged open. "The students have been arrested, sir," Shinbun reported. "The ones responsible for the Anti-England statements."

"Excellent. Where are they?"

"In the Golag."

"And what about that Morgan LeFine student?"

"The not-quite-dead one?" Apparently Morgan had been discovered by Matera Playte in the dorms lying in her bed stone cold dead. However, she couldn't be resurrected despite having a body and a file of information. It was most unusual.

"The very same."

"Deported."

"Good. Go to Pirate Arthur's ship and fetch me the Boggart Gas we imported from the Baker Street Fanfiction Academy. I've been meaning to try it on some students for a while."


	47. Operation Condor

**Notes:** The mini-lecture on Operation Condor was done by request on the IAHF tumblr. Information on Syria comes from Reuters.

* * *

><p><strong>Part XXI<strong>

"Always. It's always you two. Seriously? The rest of us are condemning President Assad and –"

"What?" Ivan and Yao looked up from their breakfasts innocently.

Alfred glowered. "You and your supporting every other dictatorship," he snapped. "The Hero won't stand for this, you know!"

"The Hero can't do anything about it," snickered Ivan. Despite their grudging truce in favour of being the first to test out the newly-imported Boggart Gas on the imprisoned students (they'd managed to negotiate with Wizard Arthur and Mr. Allen about it), the two countries were still ready to break said truce at a moment's notice.

"Fuck you, my economy's getting better."

"Slowly. Meanwhile, Yao's is going to outstrip yours in a couple of decades –"

"Don't let success get to your head, Yao, you've got human rights violators all over your country. Sooner or later it's gonna bite you in the arse, and I'll be waiting," Alfred growled.

"Sour grapes, aru," Yao replied cheerily.

"Seriously, though, Ivan, stop sending Assad weapons."

"Says you and what army?"

"Says me and like the entire free world, Commie bastard!"

"Guys, guys. Calm your tits, s'il vous plaît," Francis growled. "We're trying to have breakfast, and I want the violence to end in Syria just as badly as you two, but –"

"It's on the brink of genocide over there! They're cracking down on pro-democracy supporters, civilian and military alike!"

"It's civil war," Ivan snapped.

"Political opponents, Sunni Muslims, army defectors are being detained, tortured, raped, murdered – little children amongst them –"

"Alfred," Arthur hissed. "Shush. Yao's boss is sending diplomats to urge Assad to stop the fighting."

"Fat lot of help that'll be. They need aid, not words! Besides, Lebanon just totally rejected my plea to protect the rebels –"

"Because they don't want to compromise their national security from those terrorists!"

"Terrorists! They're fighting for freedom and democracy, you dumbass!"

"Terrorists all the same, capitalist pig! You're so blinded by your definition of terrorist as a bunch of bearded, turban-wielding Muslims that you've forgotten that terrorism is merely using the threat of violence as a weapon –"

"Some could actually even say that those pro-life people bombing Planned Parenthood clinics at your house are terrorists, too," Matthew mumbled, but obviously he was ignored.

"I'm looking forward to a ceasefire as much as you, but seriously, Al, those insurgents are affiliated with Al-Qaeda."

Alfred bristled. "I demand to see evidence!"

"Mon dieu, you two," Francis groaned. "We can't split the responsibility. The government is more in the wrong than the people. They need to step down, stop fighting, and let humanitarian aid through."

"You know the only thing we're going to agree on is a stop to the violence, aru," Yao mumbled with a yawn.

Alfred rolled his eyes.

* * *

><p>Venezia tapped lightly at the door leading to R'lyeh and Jennifer's cell; next to her Julietta peered about her anxiously.<p>

"You think they know what we're up to?" she whispered.

"Shh. If you don't hyperventilate they won't," Venezia replied.

"Are the… you know… are _they _there?"

"They should meet us outside the Huxley Wing, yeah." The location of the brainwashing camp was, fittingly, in a wing named after Aldous Huxley. Venezia opened the door to see R'lyeh sitting on his bed and Jennifer fast asleep.

"Wake her up," Venezia murmured at the Lovecraftian City.

"What for?" R'lyeh demanded.

"Shh!" Venezia held a finger to her lips. "We're helping you escape."

"Dishonesty's a bad colour on you." R'lyeh crossed his arms and leant back against the headboard.

"Well, we could leave you to suffer at the hands of Rebecca Black again tomorrow…" At that, R'lyeh shuddered. That had not been pretty. At all. In fact, Jennifer had complained about her brain cells liquefying at every word uttered from Black's mouth. R'lyeh was one auto-tuned song away from murdering kittens.

"I just want to know if you're really offering to help us escape." R'lyeh looked over at Jennifer. "I ought to wake her?"

"I'm awake," Jennifer's voice mumbled. She turned over and sat up; she'd fallen asleep with her glasses still on. "What's going on?"

"Escape, possibly," R'lyeh replied blandly, not looking at Julietta. Julietta felt a wrenching in her heart that she didn't like at all.

"There are two… P… P…" she began to say, her voice faltering as she attempted to spit out the dreaded acronym. R'lyeh raised an eyebrow.

"PPC?" he prompted.

"Yeah, there's two of them outside the wing; they're going to help you escape. We've coordinated with them since Alicia ordered you two sent here after the… you know." Julietta looked down at her hands.

"What're you waiting for?" Jennifer hissed, jumping out of bed – she'd fallen asleep in her clothes, too – and putting on her shoes. "Let's get the fuck out of here!"

Julietta sent her a glare that clearly said 'and good riddance to you, too'.

Silently they slipped down the darkened hallways of the after-hours Factory. With each step, Jennifer could feel her heart beating louder and louder in her chest until she was certain everyone could hear her. Shit, the other Sues would know they were escaping – they'd stop them – it'd all be her fault –

"Come on, hurry up!" whispered Venezia as they tiptoed past the musical torture room. They were only at the beginning. There'd been other things, too, other tortures planned along the way. They'd heard the electrical shocks, heard the screams of the other inmates as they were shocked into shunning books and knowledge. They'd even heard about unnamed horrors in Room 101.

But then again, what could possibly be worse than "Friday"?

Jennifer's eyes closed as they continued to flee down the dimly-lit hallways, looking nervously around the corners as they went. She reached for R'lyeh's hand; he grasped it and they moved on through uncertainty, both relying on the other's solidity and there-ness.

For the time being, that was enough.

* * *

><p>"I DON'T EVEN KNOW WHAT MY FEELINGS ARE DOING! MAKE IT STOP!" bawled Birgit Kurvits as the Nerd Group convened in the Café Foscarini just after History class. Despite the fact that they'd covered the Holocaust in History class around the start of the semester, they were just getting to a book discussion on Elie Wiesel's<em> Night<em>.

After all, apparently after lunch they were going to cover Operation Condor in Evolution of War.

Peter and Lila looked over at Birgit nervously as they clutched their copies of _Night _as well. Lila had finished just yesterday after Canon 101; she'd spent her lunch period sobbing about how sad it was. Peter had to admit, it was depressing as hell.

End-of-semester exams were approaching in three weeks; some of the Nerds had opted out of book discussion to study. Jayden White, for example, was clutching a book on the Gilded Age in America with a worried expression on her face.

"What exactly were the names of the labour unions in America at this time?" she asked just as Ever Li cleared her throat to open the _Night_ discussion.

"American Federation of Labour, Knights of Labour, National Labour Union, Industrial Workers of the World, Congress of Industrial Organisations," Erika Verena von Richtofen-Marlowe snapped. "The KoL and the NLU weren't exactly active at the time of the turn of the century, though – I think they lost their members to the AFL and the CIO. The Wobblies – that's the IWW – are the super-crazy-radical group."

"What was the Haymarket Square Affair?"

Lyssie Blue beat Erika to the punch. "Police and protesting workers conflicted after someone bombed the May first protest in Haymarket Square. People were accused of being anarchists and thus wrongly convicted and executed. That's where May Day comes from."

"Not because pilots yell 'mayday' when they crash?"

"No, that's French for help me," Birgit cut in. "M'aidez, m'aidez, see?"

"Back to _Night_!" Ever Li snapped. "So, raise your hand if you cried."

An overwhelming number of people raised their hands. "I lost it when Juliek started playing the violin," sniffed Hotaru Horenake.

"I lost it when Wiesel saw the burning babies on his first night in Auschwitz," Stephanie Marie retorted.

"Please! I was crying when the Nazis turned Sighet into a ghetto!" Bianca Bonnie Bishop snapped. "They knew! They knew perfectly well that the Nazis would go for them yet they didn't leave and I'm frustrated because dramatic irony is a bitch and –"

"I know that feel, bro," Alex Pierce offered. "I know that feel."

"So, what do you think are the dominant themes of the book?" Ever Li asked.

Samantha Marie Pappas frowned. "Loss of faith and innocence, eh," she offered.

"The Holocaust sucks balls," Jossy Baldarrago muttered.

"Dear world, please don't let this happen again. Love, Elie Wiesel," deadpanned Birgit. "And then, several years later, we have Pol Pot."

"Don't forget what we're going to cover after luch," added Erika.

"Oh yeah. I don't know much about Operation Condor, though."

"I doubt many of us do," replied Erika serenely. "It's kinda like what's going on in Syria with the killing of dissidents, except without the war and far more secretive."

"Do the Staff do this often? Pair up events in history with current events in their classes?" Fayane Tyme wondered.

"I heard they did it last year during the Sparkly Terrorist thing," Bianca replied. "Dunno if it's totally on purpose though."

"Can we get back on track?" Ever Li muttered. "I'd like to go to lunch soon."

"Well, fine. What's a detail about the Holocaust that you didn't know about before you read _Night_?" Erika offered.

Stephanie Marie shrugged. "The dramatic irony, probably. How many Jewish people fell victim to the Holocaust because they simply didn't believe people were capable of such things?"

"Yeah, that part about Moishe the Beadle? I think he represents the Jewish as a whole, because he went through what happened and he tried to inform the people of Sighet but he was ignored – it's like Wiesel's fear, not being able to spread awareness of what happened to his peers."

"There are crazies out there who deny the Holocaust ever happened, yeah."

"You know what really gets me, though?" Matsu Takeshima asked suddenly, looking up from her book. "The survival of the fittest thing. How it manages to cut through everything, even family ties. That made me cry, when Wiesel nearly abandoned his dad. It's because we only really have family in the end, right? And the Nazis take that away, too."

"Well said," Kartik Abingdon murmured.

"You say that to like… everything I say."

"Well, I do have to be supportive of you." Kartik adjusted his cravat with a sniff.

Peter felt like he should contribute to the discussion, but he really had nothing to say. The conversation continued into more discussion about the Holocaust, and comparisons between _Night_ and Anne Frank's diary ("Please, they really can't be compared. I mean Anne Frank wrote her stuff before she was sent to the camps, and if she survived, she probably would have written something like _Night_, too," Sasha K. Everthorne snapped with a flick of her tail). Soon, though, the Nerds disbanded for lunch (Alexis Cal was complaining about not wanting to hear anything else about corpse-flavoured soup) and Peter and Lila met with Kira outside the Cafeteria.

"Dude, did the book chat really have to take that long, yo?" Kira demanded.

"Ursula still not back yet?" Lila cut in. "It's been almost a week since her arrest."

"She probably gets out tomorrow, yo," Kira replied, rolling her eyes. "Try to avoid the flying pizza."

"You mean flying vegetables," snickered Peter as they entered the Cafeteria. Moments later a slice of pepperoni pizza hit him squarely in the face. Axel Hoit had thrown it.

"Oh, sorry!" she yelled. "I was aiming for someone else!"

"Sure you were," Jessie the Winged Person retorted, causing Axel to flinch slightly. Jessie may not be an Angel, but she at least could pass off as one on first glance. Didn't help poor Axel's Angel-phobia, though.

"You guys need to stop getting sauce all over Roberta," Tamantha Smith snapped from her corner, where she was cleaning up her robotic creation with a scowl on her face. Roberta looked unfazed, but then she always looked that way. "You'll short her out someday, I bet!"

"I didn't know toasters ate food," Ivan Stern sneered.

Tamantha bristled. "Shut up! She is _not_ a frakking toaster!"

"Where were you at the discussion?" Lila asked as they passed by her corner to get some pizza, the stocks of which were rapidly depleting as the lunchtime fight wore on. Peter wasn't sure what the topic was – they'd probably disintegrated into fighting for fighting's sake. It was a bit disconcerting.

"Fixing Roberta," Tamantha replied blandly. "She came down with a virus this morning, so…"

"Ah." Lila nodded, piling pizza onto Peter's plate.

"What're we doing after lunch, desu yo?" Kira asked interestedly.

"Don't you have a Crossover essay to finish?" Lila retorted as they found a set of not-covered-in-pizza seats. Kira had already ate; she was flipping through her binder (which had a plethora of Sealand pictures under the clear plastic covers) rather aimlessly.

"Ew, fuck that shit, yo."

"Wizard Arthur's been pestering you for it for a while."

"I don't know anything about Mycroft Holmes, though. How the hell do they even compare him to Arthur, yo?"

"He's the British Government, apparently," Daisuke Saburo pointed out as he stalked past.

"Wait, how can he be…?" Kira trailed off. "Never mind."

"How can a single person be a government? Yeah, how can a single person be a Nation is another question you might want to consider," Daisuke rolled his eyes and went off to find Molly O'Flannigan-Oxenstierna.

* * *

><p>"Operation Condor," began McCarthy Era Alfred as the third semester students filed into the Evil Overlord Classroom for their Evolution of War class, "is a campaign of terror and political repression in South America starting in 1975 and officially terminating in 1983. During that time, thousands of people in the various key governments were imprisoned, tortured, and killed."<p>

Everyone scrambled to get out paper and take notes.

"The operation's purpose was to eliminate all supposed socialist and communist influences and ideas from these various countries. Write down the Nations involved," added Kuro Kiku. "The key members are Argentina, Chile, Uruguay, Paraguay, Bolivia, and Brazil. More minor members are Ecuador and Peru. The United States was a collaborator."

Gasps. "Alfred! How could you!" Stephanie Marie gasped.

"Communism! The horrors of Communism, that's what!" thundered McCarthy Alfred. "At the same time that this was established the Evil Empire extended its red tentacles of blood into Cambodia and squeezed the life out of its intellectuals and practically every ethnic minority in the country! This evil simply had to be eradicated!"

"Not through secret assassinations!" argued Stephanie.

"Miss Marie, how dare you contradict me!" bellowed McCarthy Alfred, leaning down from his podium like an enraged cartoon dictator. Spittle flew everywhere; several of the front-row students cowered and wiped their faces. "I will not stand for such insolence! Amercia!"

"HELP!" screeched Stephanie as she was duly bounced away.

"Operation Condor," continued Kuro Kiku as if no one had interrupted, "officially began in Chile when leaders of the military intelligence services gathered with the Chilean secret police to create the plan. However, before they'd officially created the operation there had been meetings between the military and the police of these countries where they exchanged information and plotted to 'struggle against subversion' as they saw in the thousands of political exiles in Argentina. In fact, the first bodies of the operation turned up a year before it was created, in Buenos Aires. They'd been Bolivian refugees." He paused, consulting his notes. "The operation went into full swing once the military took over the governments of the key states."

"The United States approved of the operation and sponsored the secret police of the various countries," added McCarthy Alfred, still heaving from his yelling. "The CIA provided suspect lists to the military states and helped search for wanted people within the U.S. In fact, Secretary of State Kissinger had been briefed on Condor, and while the U.S. made it look as if they were taking steps to stop the murders, they actually did nothing about them."

"France was also suspected to be involved. Journalist Marie-Monique Robin pointed to how some Argentine officers were trained at the École de Guerre military school before the Cuban Revolution. The French had agreed to set up a military mission in Buenos Aires, with Algerian War veterans within a stone's throw distance of the Argentine Army officers. Torture suddenly became the primary tactic in modern warfare." Kuro Kiku paused for a moment. "Essentially even though the Parliamentary Commission in France accused Robin of lying, the accusation still stood that France taught the Latin American countries how to wage such secret warfare."

The students sat in spellbound horror as the lecture wore on, as Kuro Kiku and McCarthy Alfred wrote the names of prominent victims on the board. Several of the younger students seemed on the verge of fainting – but obviously no one dared to actually do that, because chances were McCarthy Alfred would somehow manage to connect fainting spells to Communism. After all, just last week he had screamed at Coraline Freeman for sketching in class, claiming that her picture of Denmark with his axe and hat was subversive and subliminal Communist propaganda merely because he was holding the axe almost at the exact angle as the sickle on the Soviet flag. Poor Coraline had found herself suffering the grandmother of all art blocks the day after.

Torture. Assassination. Kidnappings. People simply vanished without a trace. Friends and family were also targeted. Police rounded up dissenters, the military hunted down organisations. All of it in the name of suppressing dissent. It wasn't unprecedented; it had happened before. It was Orwellian.

By the end of the class, the graduating students left the classroom unable to look any of the American or French Mochis in the eyes.

* * *

><p>Morgan LeFine opened a bleary eye to see darkness all around her. She sat up, wondering where she was. It did look like something out of sBurb, but she couldn't be certain. What if Jack Noir was lurking in the shadows somewhere, ready to do her in?<p>

Morgan got to her feet, trying to get the feeling back into her legs. She walked a couple of paces and slammed into a wall. Frowning, she walked in the opposite direction and slammed into a wall. But nothing barred her from going left or right, so she went right.

As her eyes adjusted to the dark, Morgan realised she was walking down a dark chasm. Above, a faint pinprick of what could be night sky hovered. Where the hell was she? Didn't look like any of the planets or Alternia or whatnot.

The walls stretched up towards the sky, tall and sheer. No noticeable trail going up or down. Morgan wondered if this was what it felt like to be inside the Grand Canyon.

Suddenly, a bright spot of Bled light appeared right in front of her. Morgan shielded her eyes with her arms; as soon as the blinding light faded she lowered them and wondered if someone had come to save her. She crossed her fingers for Gamzee.

Obviously not. The couple that stood in front of her looked… well. The guy looked familiar. He looked like Mr. Hugh and Mr. Allen, only with a moustache. The woman was unrecognisable. She carried a suitcase.

"Oh dear," she murmured quietly. Morgan wanted to run away, but her feet weren't cooperating.

The last thing she saw was the sight of the man raising a revolver at her face, and the last thing she heard was a gunshot.


	48. What Would You Do for a Corpse Party?

**Notes: **Just realised I'd numbered the chapters wrong. They're fixed now.

* * *

><p><strong>Part XXIII<strong>

"I would say 'curse you and your sudden but inevitable betrayal', but this isn't quite sudden, is it?"

Jennifer groaned quietly, opening her eyes. Another Mary Sue stood in the hallway, arms akimbo and blue eyes flashing like ice. Her face was beautiful, flawless – a priceless doll, an Angel of Death.

"Angelle," Julietta whimpered.

"Oh, Julietta. I thought you were a good girl," simpered the Mary Sue. She looked scornfully at Venezia. "I knew Venezia wasn't, but… my, this is surprising."

A hissing noise. Jennifer paled in terror when she saw the black form of a cobra slither out of the shadows. The cobra wound itself around Angelle's shoulders like a hideous black shawl, forked tongue tickling at her ear.

"I agree, Lilith," Angelle murmured; her eyes had closed and she was stroking the serpent with long, white fingers. "Naughty children must be cast out of our sight." From the folds of her dress the Mary Sue slowly drew out a document. A blank document emblazoned with a potted cactus wielding a sword.

Before any of them had time to blink Angelle lunged forward with the document rolled up in her hands, intent on hitting one of them like one would hit a particularly gruesome-looking spider. R'lyeh ducked away; his fingers slipped from Jennifer's as Venezia and Julietta tugged them away from the oncoming Mary Sue.

"There's another way out," Venezia growled. "Run!" They didn't need further prompting to turn tail and run – the cobra was uncoiling itself from around Angelle's shoulders. Unfortunately for Jennifer, however, she couldn't keep up with R'lyeh, Venezia, or Julietta not only because she wasn't very athletic to begin with but also because she was human.

"Shit, Jennifer, run faster!" R'lyeh had paused at the end of the hallway, right before the turn. Angelle was gaining on Jennifer; Jennifer had slowed down to a jog.

She stopped and smiled at R'lyeh. "Just go on without me," she panted.

"Are you fucking nuts?"

"I didn't know it was possible to do that." Jennifer laughed and turned around to face the oncoming Mary Sue. "Get out of here!"

Angelle's blow caught her in the chest. The cobra lashed out and bit her in the left shoulder. Jennifer collapsed with a whimper, but her body vanished before it hit the floor.

R'lyeh turned and fled.

* * *

><p>"Oh god. Oh god, oh god. I hate this shithole. I hate it."<p>

"Yes, we're aware of that. You've been telling us this for the past week or so."

"They locked us in a room and got us high on gas!"

"I don't know why you're complaining about getting high."

"IT WAS AWFUL!"

"Did you have a bad acid trip?"

"I HEARD VOICES!"

"I believe that's what happens when you take drugs…?"

"THERE WAS SOMETHING COMING AFTER ME!"

"Don't be stupid."

"I HATE THIS PLACE!"

Lila rolled her eyes and looked over at the extremely red-eyed Ursula Klevin. "So dramatic," she sighed.

"You don't understand! They experimented on us! Alfred and Ivan experimented on us!"

"You did sign the form."

"I was scared out of my fucking wits!"

Kira snorted. "Cool story bro," she replied over a cup of hot chocolate. Thursday Open Mic Night was scheduled to begin soon, and rumour had it that Johan Cordine was going to perform a striptease. No one really wanted to see it, though; since there was precious little of him people hadn't seen with his slutty outfits anyway. The G8 was actually considering implementing a dress code, despite Megan's protests. She was probably the only Staff member who didn't mind seeing too much psi-vampire, even if customs had misinterpreted it and turned him into a Psyduck with fangs.

"Are you mocking my pain?" demanded Ursula. "Kitty Sinner doesn't hate England and she was in the Golag too and she –"

"Isn't she the one who really, really hates China? Even if she claims to say that she doesn't hate anyone?" Peter asked.

"Yeah she thinks he's a whore," Lila replied.

"Stan said she pissed her pants when Dex and Princie played monkey noises outside her window on Monday."

"Serves her right," sniffed Lila. "Every time I pass her room there's some new pornographic image on the door. I don't know how her roommate deals with it."

"Tiare Kealoha thinks she's a pimp, desu yo," Kira pointed out. "She wants to whore out her lust objects, yo."

"Like you're no better," sniffed Ursula, miffed that they weren't paying attention to her woes. But then again, they hadn't done so for a solid week, so it was surprising that she still cared.

"Kitty bribed Tatyana Kornilova to draw her Itacest. Or at least tried to. Denny doesn't draw that sorta stuff I think," Lila mused. "But I'm surprised they didn't force Kitty to room with Ookami Mangetsu; d'you think they did and she just exchanged places with someone?"

Peter shrugged; the lights dimmed for Open Mic Night and Charlie Tenterden stood up on a table, grinning from ear to ear.

"Sorry, you guys, Merka's cloistered away in the Staff Section ogling pictures of March Eridan," he explained, "so I'm going to be your host tonight!"

"Ugh, March Eridan," Lila groaned, while Alison Frazier snickered at the next table over.

"So! Who's got anything to share tonight? Poems? Anecdotes? Random snippets of fictional languages from other fandoms?" He directed the last bit at Janice Harrier, who must be nearing her furry time of the moth because she was hacking up hairballs. "Anyone? No one? Don't be shy! Aw _yes_, thank you, Mr. Splendorguy."

The rainbow-clad Slenderman student slunk up to the table and took the mike from Charlie. "My friend Nyan McNyan and I composed this splendorful song together! It's called 'Ode to a Rainbow'!"

"Oh god, that sounds so fucking fabulous," Charlie sniggered.

"I know right?" Splendorguy giggled as well as Nyan McNyan joined him at the table. "All right, Nyan?"

"Nyaaaaaa!" squealed the Nyan Cat, and off they went.

* * *

><p>"Where exactly did you wake up?" Mr. Allen asked the student quietly. Said student was dressed like Gamzee Makara and had a look of utter confusion and terror on her face.<p>

"This isn't Alternia," Morgan LeFine whined.

"No, I don't think it is," muttered Mr. Hugh from next to Mr. Allen. "Miss LeFine, you've leapt out of the frying pan and into the fire, do you understand?"

"Frying pans are cool! I want that as my Strife Specibus!"

The two Course Coordinators exchanged Looks. "Miss LeFine, we could have you sent to the Golag for a special experiment with Alfred and Ivan if you don't cooperate," Mr. Allen snapped, pinching the bridge of his nose.

"Oh, I'm scaaaared." Morgan grinned toothily. "You two don't scare me! For one, you're not some stupid radioactive carapace-dog with wings intent on taking over the universe, and –"

"Shut up." Mr. Hugh sighed, and reached for Mr. Allen's holster to retrieve his revolver.

"Let me," Mr. Allen hissed, drawing the gun and pointing it at Morgan's temple. "Tell. Us. What. Happened."

"I wanted to go to Aradia's corpse party," Morgan began in a faltering voice; Mr. Allen and Mr. Hugh rolled their eyes.

"A corpse party? Dear god, that's been over for ages."

"So? It sounded cool and I hoped I would see Karkat Vantas and John Egbert make out –"

"Remind me to pester Loki for transfer papers," Mr. Hugh mouthed at Mr. Allen. His clone nodded.

"So I decided to ask Wizard Arthur for some Draught of Living Death. I took it, and I guess you guys thought I was dead…"

"We attempted to resurrect you, yes, but you weren't cooperating. Seems like you never do, really." Mr. Hugh's mouth twitched in a wry smile. "So we had you deported. Seems like wherever you went, you died because your body was delivered to the Hospital Wing yesterday and we've just revived you."

"Oh yeah, I got shot."

"Shot," deadpanned Mr. Allen.

"Where?" queried Mr. Hugh.

Morgan frowned. "I dunno. I was in a canyon of sorts. Really black, sheer walls. No way up. Faint light above. Then there was Bled light – by the way, what sort of troll would have Bled-coloured blood? Would it be what happens if a troll of Vriska's blood colour and another with Karkat's blood colour mixed their genetic material –?"

"Shut up about troll reproduction for once in your life!" screeched Mr. Allen, who had been in a rancorous mood all week no thanks to Smuppets and stairs. But then again, Mr. Hugh _had_ tried to warn him about those stairs.

"Fine! It didn't look like any place I've seen, though. Did rather fit, like, the Grand Canyon or something, but otherwise… I dunno."

"The Void." Eledhwen Elerossiel stepped out of a nearby portal, which flickered blue before closing. "That's the Void between the Verses."

Mr. Allen bristled. "How long have you been listening in?"

"Caught something about a corpse party?" the _elleth_ shrugged. "The only corpse party I know of is happening at the PPC. Dissection Day at the Department of Mary Sue Experiments and Research."

"Oh god, I didn't need to know," grimaced Mr. Hugh.

"Does no one want to the story of how I died?" snapped Morgan, crossing her arms and pouting.

"Carry on, then," growled Mr. Allen.

"Fine! So I woke up in the Void thing – is it anything like a Scratch or – okay, I'll shut up about Homestuck for now – and then I saw this Bled light and when it disappeared there was this couple who looked like you. Well, the guy looked like you. Except he also had a moustache."

"What about the other person?"

"Some chick holding a suitcase. She said something –"

"What did she say?"

"Something like 'oh dear', and then the guy raised a gun and _bam_ –"

"He shot you!" Mr. Hugh's face was pale.

"Yeah."

Mr. Hugh and Mr. Allen exchanged a Look again. Eledhwen frowned.

"Do you know the person who shot her?" she asked quietly.

"Possibly," Mr. Allen replied, voice strained. "I think he may be…"

"Ernest Satow?" finished Mr. Hugh.

"There is no Ernest Satow in this timeline," Eledhwen replied immediately. "There never has, and there never will be."

"But historically –"

"Historically, yes. But that is confined to World One. Ernest Satow does not exist here."

"How do you –" Mr. Allen's knuckles had turned white on his gun. Eledhwen sighed and produced her customary papers.

"Reports from our spies in the Mirror Multiverse have confirmed it. The man you know as Ernest Satow is actually the Mirror Multiverse version of Hugh Fraser."

* * *

><p>Another portal flashed into existence in the middle of the Café Foscarini. Ashton West had been in the middle of some sort of Angel of Death Rap Routine™, and groaned at the interruption.<p>

"I'm trying to make some sick beats over here! Gimme a break!" he snapped at the figures stepping out of a portal.

"No, your beats are most definitely not sick," a very familiar voice resounded through the room. "Kindly stop tainting the English language with this drivel that you call 'poetry'."

"RILEY!" Jack Ochoa squealed.

"Glowing balls of Yog-Sothoth, not you!"

"Didja miss me? Didja miss me? Didja? Didja?" Jack demanded as he latched himself onto his roommate and gave him a noogie. R'lyeh slapped him away. "Aw come on, that's not how you –"

"Shut up!" R'lyeh snapped. Alexis Cal and Boris the Honey Badger shoved Jack away; Boris wound himself around R'lyeh's ankles in some sort of greeting, grinning from ear-to-ear.

"Oh man, you've missed out on so much – Alexis and I went sledding and Malicious One tried to steal all the food in the kitchen and –"

"Nice. Good. Fine." R'lyeh smirked, bending down to pat the Honey Badger on the head.

"Who are they?" Alexis asked, pointing to Venezia and Julietta. Charlie, however, beat R'lyeh to the punch.

"What the hell are you doing here, Venezia?" he demanded, hackles rising dangerously, defensively. Venezia bristled in response – obviously lusters of Mr. Hugh could detect rivals by scent and were very prone to agonistic behaviour. In fact, the two of them were glaring at each other, one whisker away from circling each other like wolves.

"I could ask the same for you," Venezia drawled. Julietta shot a 'I-have-no-bloody-clue-what-is-going-on' look at R'lyeh, who shrugged.

"I work here. You turning yourself back in?"

"Play nice," barked Agent Christianne Shieh; she placed herself between the two with a glare. "Charlie, they're with me."

"Since when do the PPC harbour Mary Sues?" Andy Kirk demanded from the bar.

"Since these two turned rogue and now need refuge from persecution from their fellow Sues," Agent Christianne replied snippily. "You two do have your Auras off, right?"

"Almost forgot how to use it," Venezia muttered.

"Very well. Lovecraft kid, we'll leave you over here. Sues, come with me. We're meeting up with Ellie."

A pause. Next to Andy, Sara Parker's eyes narrowed as she struggled to focus on the newcomers. It was a bit hard for her; she was drunk.

"Waaaait…" she slurred, going slightly cross-eyed as she squinted. "Wheresh Jennifer?"

At that, R'lyeh looked down at his feet. "Dead," he said after a moment.

Stony silence permeated the room. "Wait, really?" Andy demanded incredulously. R'lyeh swallowed audibly and nodded.

C. Jeanette Hernandez took off her sombrero. Everyone else in the café who was wearing some form of hat (not a lot at first, until someone found a bunch of hats in a nearby plothole) followed suit.


	49. The Void Between the Verses

**Part XXIV**

"How is he doing?"

A pause. Howard the Spy sighed and took Mary's hand.

"Inconsolable," he admitted.

"I thought they split," Mary remarked, pursing her lips. "He hasn't forgotten her?"

"How could he; they work together –"

"She's been missing since Christmas." Mary knocked gently at the door. "Work?"

Workbitch Bartholomew opened the door. His dark hair was dishevelled, his eyes bloodshot and puffy. "What?" he demanded.

"Oh, my poor dear," consoled Mary, hugging her grandson-in-law.

"Mary, I'm fine."

"You obviously aren't. I have eyes, you know."

Workbitch snorted. "So I see."

"You've been confined for three days. Does her death really affect you so?"

"We can't resurrect her."

"Perhaps she's not dead, then?"

"We don't even have the body." Workbitch took the handkerchief that Mary offered him, obnoxiously blowing his nose. "Point is, I never got to apologise to her or…" he trailed off, shrugging.

"Or?" prompted Mary.

"None of your business."

"Try me," Mary replied, raising an eyebrow. "You don't have to face it alone, you know."

"I just wanted to thank her," Workbitch replied, "for the memories, for begging to spare me, for working so hard on our relationship while I did nothing in return. That's all."

* * *

><p>"Nataliya's failing me in Comp Gov for sure," Airlia Asteri whined at breakfast the week before finals.<p>

"Please, she's failing me on purpose and I'm one of her fans," Shoste Thermo snapped. Blaise Asmodée snickered; Shoste glared at him. "You shut your mouth, Blaise!"

"I didn't say anything."

"No, but what you didn't say annoys me, too." Shoste took out her binder and sighed. "Micronations quiz today. I'm failing that, too."

"How do you fail Micronations class? That's the easiest stuff there is!" Amitie Elric snapped.

"You're one to talk; you're not even in the class yet," groaned Kiryll Nightroad, still picking heron feathers out of his hair.

"I can't wait for it, though!" squealed Kira. "Sealand-poopsie-kun's teaching it, yo!"

Lila sighed, rolling her eyes. Peter laughed.

"Quick, someone freaking quiz me on my Micronations because I do not know shit about them," Amaria Joon Lexun snapped, holding up her notes. "We're just covering the newer ones, right?"

"Molossia, Ladonia, Hutt River, Kugelmugel, yes." Aria Yakushi affirmed.

"Kugelmugel's in Austria, Hutt River's in Australia, Molossia's in Nevada, Ladonia's on the Internet," chipped in Hannah Harrier. "Molossia has a dog, and Hutt River has a Bilby."

Massie Wilton snickered. "Don't you think Hutt River looks a bit like Mr. Allen? Except with brown hair and brown eyes?"

"He has Mr. Hugh's pompousness," sniffed Romana Kirlen.

Meanwhile at the North American table, the USUKers were sighing happily over Cameron's trip to the U.S. the week before, squealing things about true love, barbeque grills, and table tennis.

Apparently Obama and Cameron exchanged presents while heartily endorsing each other and reaffirming the Special Relationship, as well as chatting about how they were going to turn up the heat on Syria and Iran. According to the USUKers, it all sounded like a glorious date. Chances were, they had been hoping for Obama to escort Cameron to the airport with a sign that said "I LOVE YOU".

"They're just so adorable ugh I can't handle it," sobbed Korah Lyons. "Arthur's so insecure about the Special Relationship and it's like OMG ARTHUR STOP IT ALFRED WILL ALWAYS HAVE A SPECIAL PLACE IN HIS HEART FOR YOU –"

"I know that feel, man," Wake the lolwat sniffled. "WHY MUST THEY GIVE US SO MANY FEELS?"

The other shippers – especially the FrUKers – sent them all odd looks. Over at the Europe table, Melissa N. Rohart muttered something about failing her genocide quiz in Evolution of War.

"Did they already post results?" demanded Michael Arch, who had popped into the cafeteria to sit with Cain Harren and Amitiel Arch. The Angels disliked Evolution of War class, but they had to take them to avoid the Iron Maiden. Apparently a couple of months ago someone had refused to take the class and ended up impersonating a sieve. The vampire students had gone loco and had to be put into straitjackets with silver zippers.

"Yeah, on Sunday. I totally fucked up the stages of genocide."

"Shame." Michael shrugged.

"Sometimes I wonder what it's like in a human's mind. Are all of you this committed to failure?" Amitiel Arch demanded.

"Failure? I didn't understand the stages, dumbass," Melissa snapped, returning to her porridge and hundred-year-old eggs. The dinner food fight was scheduled to be Pandaburger versus RoChu.

"Have you guys heard this song?" Didi demanded suddenly, waving around her iPod (which was named Dobby and had developed a propensity for socks despite being an inanimate piece of gadgetry). "The Headmaster recorded it for Mochi America –"

"Oh my god, the National Anthem!" screeched Sara Juarez. "Oh my god that is some fucked up shit!"

"What were the lyrics again?" George Rowland wondered. "I couldn't pick it up on the first go, but –"

"Fat, fat, fat, fat, I will fuck you fuck, fuck you, fuck you… I will fuck you, fuck you," sang Estellantalia Serafianta Stonnolaso-Jones. "It's such a fucked up song, pun not intended –"

"WAAAH! I WISH THE HEADMASTER COULD AT LEAST FINISH THE CHRISTMAS BLOODBATH! IT'S STILL CHRISTMAS FOR US!" sobbed Alex Maeson. She was a Workbitch fangirl who would obviously have decapitated Jennifer to take her place back when the two of them had been an item. Once again, there were three Alexes at the school – her, Alex Riddle, and Alex Pierce. The Alex Inquisition had been dully resurrected (with Alexis Cal as an honorary member), and often clashed with the three Arianas – Ariana Vargas Carriedo, Ariana Beatrice Grant, and Ariana Julia Vortex.

And speaking of Alexis Cal, over at her corner of the Cafeteria, R'lyeh had heard Alex Maeson's comment and was sniggering to himself about how relevant that had been for him almost a month ago.

It was still Christmas in Hetalia…

* * *

><p>Jennifer was first aware of something stinging in her left shoulder. It reminded her of that time in sixth grade when a stingray had stung her in the foot, except this time the pain was in her shoulder and she had no hot water on hand to immerse it with. She winced, opened her eyes, and saw nothing but darkness.<p>

But if she was dead, she shouldn't be hurting so badly, right?

Jennifer's eyes adjusted to the dimness; as they did so she became faintly aware of two figures sitting not too far away from her.

There was a snap, a crackle, and a pop, and three Rice Krispie elves popped out of nowhere – no, actually, a flame sparked in the darkness, lighting up the visages of Ernest Satow and Takeda Kane.

"How's the shoulder?" Kane asked calmly.

Jennifer winced. "Fine," she ground out, heaving herself into a sitting position.

"Can't touch it; I treated it as best I could but there'll still be scarring. Though you're lucky it wasn't fatal."

Jennifer grimaced again. "Thank you, I suppose." She paused, looking around at the shadows and the various shades of darkness. "Where am I?"

"The Void between the Verses," Satow replied, his voice a low rumble. Jennifer could see the strange suitcase thing next to him – the Chronotransporter, was it? It exuded an aura of resignation and sulkiness.

"And what are you two doing here?"

"Waiting."

Jennifer nodded. "Well, you've got a time machine thing over here. Can you take me home?"

"Home?" Satow tilted his head to the side, shooting her a quizzical stare. "Well, we _are _going to take you to IAHF –"

"But not the one you know," agreed Kane.

"What do you mean?"

"Who do you think we are?" Kane asked sweetly, the ruddy glow of the firelight – they'd started a campfire – throwing the rest of her features into sharp shadows. Jennifer shivered.

"Satow and Kane, the visitors from over the summer."

"Close." Satow grinned. "Close, but no cigar. Hate to admit it, but we've been obfuscating the truth a bit."

"A lot," added Kane.

"Everything," conceded Satow.

"You lied to us how?" Jennifer demanded, quirking an eyebrow.

"If I told you, I'd have to kill you." Satow chuckled darkly. The Chronotransporter made to speak, but the couple glared at it. It subsided with a huff of Bled light.

Jennifer pulled her knees towards her and stared at the two of them, thinking. After a moment, she sighed. "Let me guess, you're the evil twins of Mr. Hugh and Takara."

"Good, very good!" Satow grinned sardonically. "I see IAHF has kicked some sense into you. But we're not ordinary evil twins."

"Doppelgängers?"

"Even better."

A pause. Jennifer frowned. "You're responsible for the quake on Valentine's Day?"

"Obviously."

"Then you must be from…" Jennifer racked her brains for the term, "the Mirror Multiverse!"

"Ding-ding-ding! We have a winner! Tell Miss Holmes here what she's won!" The mask had slipped, cracked. Gone was the polite, ingratiating diplomat Jennifer had met over the summer; in his place was a madman whose eyes darted wildly and whose moustache quivered with manic excitement. Jennifer recoiled, eyes widening in horror.

Kane's face was impassive. "You were bitten by a cobra, correct?" she asked quietly.

"Possibly," Jennifer mumbled, looking shiftily from Satow to Kane and back. Satow made to get up, but his wife (_was_ she his wife?) pulled him down with a glare.

"Hugh, you know we're supposed to bring her in unharmed."

"Lilith bit her," snapped Satow. "She's already damaged goods."

"What exactly do you want from me?" Jennifer demanded. "Why am I going to the Mirror Multiverse IAHF?"

"Oh, you'll figure out when we get there," Kane dismissed. "Believe it or not, our IAHF was created from yours via Chronotransporter –"

"Wait, what? Timey-wimey. Explain." Jennifer crossed her legs, frowning.

"Your Lilith created the Chronotransporter," Satow explained. "When she had Agnes Hill test it out, she created the Mirror Multiverse version of IAHF where she had total control over the school and turned it into a brainwashing camp for goodfic writers. A Mary Sue written by a fanbrat named Katy Honda Chan –"

"Was she ever related to Katey Bartholomew-Strider from that other alternate timeline?"

"No idea. Possibly? After all, they both detest Jennifer –"

"Wait, what?" demanded Jennifer. Satow and Kane looked back at her. Kane cleared her throat.

"Hm, anyway. A Mary Sue named Imogene Kate Middlton Deryn Razziel Fluttershine Fraser was appointed as overseer of the Mirror Multiverse IAHF. She and the rest of us had an idea. An idea to expand into the Prime Multiverse and subjugate it in the name of the Sunflower Emperor."

Jennifer wasn't sure what was more laugh-worthy – the ludicrousness of the entire situation or the fact that Satow and Kane were saying that with such straight faces.

"April Fool's Day is only a couple of weeks away," she remarked.

"Fool!" screeched Satow. "You do not mock the name of Our Dear Leader Imogene!"

Jennifer suppressed her giggles at that. "So you're saying that your version of IAHF is like North Korea only with more sparkles and Sues?" she asked.

"Shut up, Prime Multiverse scum!"

"Close enough, I guess," Jennifer mumbled.

"We are allowing you the high privilege of setting foot in our fair realm without pain of death. You should be grateful," snapped Satow.

"Okay, okay, fine. Tell me how you intend on taking over IAHF."

Satow shot her a dirty glare. "The Merge," he replied.

"The Merge?" Jennifer echoed.

"Yes, yes, the Merge!" Satow groaned. "How idiotic must you be? It's obviously the merging of the Prime and Mirror Multiverses. Man, you Prime Multiverse scum are so stupid. It took you a little girl to figure out that we weren't even from your stupid world."

"A little girl?" Jennifer demanded. "Did you use Mr. Hugh's daughter –"

"That was part of the game, letting them figure out their fate." Kane grinned, eyes malicious. "Many of us Mirror Multiverse denizens have the ability to communicate through dreams, since the population is almost one hundred percent Suvian, but most of us choose not to use that power. However, the mirror Lilith, Sparkles, and I have used them to influence events in your world."

"Lilith possessed a cobra."

"Close. Lilith used a cobra as a tool to possess Angelle Hill. She thinks that she thought up the idea of brainwashing camps? Fool. She's only doing what our Lilith is telling her to do. And soon we will take over her flimsy little factory, too."

"Okay, and how do you create the Merge?" Jennifer asked, feeling rather disconcerted at the cavalier way she was asking these questions. Shouldn't she be panicking? Her school was about to be attacked again!

"The Lilith in our universe saw no need for a Chronotransporter. However, after the failed attack on your school last year and her Prime Multiverse self's death, she had to take matters into her own hands by infiltrating the factory. There, she found out that they were still working with the Chronotransporter. When the Defective Agnes Hill came to inspect her creation, we ambushed her."

"And killed her," Jennifer stated.

"And took the Chronotransporter," finished Satow. "Our Allen tested it out first. Remember Sir Edwin Arnold?"

Jennifer gasped, eyes widening in horror. "That was…"

"Yes."

Oh god. Oh god, oh god. This was worse than she'd thought. They'd been infiltrating since the summer. Jennifer put her head in her hands and tried her hardest to think. After a couple of deep breaths, she asked:

"What does the Chronotransporter have to do with the Merge?"

"Everything," snapped Kane. "With each trip taken with the Chronotransporter, another alternate timeline is created. Make too many of them, and there ceases to be a difference between the main timeline and its alternates."

"So you're taking the Chronotransporter to its carrying capacity in order to spark the Merge."

"Yes. This trip back home will be its last. The first stage of the Merge will then begin. It begins with a bridge, Miss Chang. The Bridge. You may have heard about one in the Lord of the Rings fandom years ago, one that allowed Middle-earth to be run over by Mary Sues."

"So you guys can invade and take over IAHF without us noticing."

"Just so." Kane smirked. "It's going to start very soon, Miss Chang. Our final problem. And you'll be responsible for it."

At that moment, the Chronotransporter sulkily whirred into life. _Time to go_, it said.

"Oh god." Jennifer shook her head. "Oh god, no, I can't."

"You've got a very important date, you know! Can't be late!" Satow exclaimed.

"No, no, I really can't. I refuse." Jennifer shook her head, backing away from the deranged Mirror Multiverse couple. Oh, what use was it anyway? If she used the Chronotransporter to escape she'd spark the Merge. If they left her, they'd spark the Merge. If she went with them, they'd all spark the Merge. She was pretty sure that the Merge would involve something like the walls of this canyon, this Void, to collide together and smush her like the filling in an Oreo cookie.

"You don't have much of a choice," Satow drawled. Jennifer hated how he had a point.

And then the Bled light seeped out of the timey-wimey suitcase, heading straight for her.


	50. We are Your New Sparkly Overlords

**Note: **Trigger warning: Megan. Okay not entirely, but still. (actual trigger for an offhand comment about rape)

* * *

><p><strong>Part XXV<strong>

Examinations swept up the school on the last week of March, causing students – or at least the Nerds – to barricade themselves in their various study areas with books and notes. The first wave of examinations, languages, had the French students sobbing over their _conditionnel_ charts and conjugation tables. Stanley South whined about not knowing the differences between 'qui', 'que', and 'lequel', a grievance echoed by many others.

"I still don't know which verbs take 'être' and which take 'avoir' in the passé composé," gasped Ulrich at breakfast the morning of the language exams.

"How? Francis had us sing that song since we learnt it, doofus!" Fye Acespaid exclaimed.

"I fell asleep!" whined Ulrich.

Birgit Kurvits rolled her eyes. "You're just like that one chick who graduated two semesters ago, what's-her-face –"

"Hotaru the Perpetually Sleepy," offered Molly O'Flannigan-Oxenstierna.

"Oh yeah, her. Mitsuki knew her," Hotaru Horenake agreed.

"In any case," Fye Acespaid snapped, "the verbs go to the tune of 'Yankee Doodle'. I can't believe you slept through _that_."

"Nothing like Francis singing 'Yankee Doodle', my friend," snickered Nessie. At that, several others started to sing.

"Aller-venir-sortir-partir, devenir, retourner! Arriver-rester-rentrer, tomber, entrer-revenir! Montre-descendre, naître-mourir! Montre-descendre, naître-mourir!"

But despite their preparations, most of the students still felt woefully bested by their exams. Some who belonged to the Megan school of YOLO – which should obviously be YLOO to be grammatically correct – would say that the exam buttraped them. Of course others – like a majority of the female Nerd Group members – would beg to differ and say that exams were incapable of sprouting sexual organs and could not, therefore, force people to have sex against their will.

Never mind the fact that some of the Latin exams, possibly by virtue of being too close to the Rome-Wall, did like to cling onto the bosoms of hapless female students. And some male students, too.

"What's on the list for today?" asked Lila at breakfast, as Peter tried to put an arm around her, eat, and check the exam schedule all at the same time.

"History," he sighed. "Another round of DBQs."

"Make it stop, yo," groaned Kira from across from him.

This year, both the History and Canon 101 classes had DBQ exams. Just yesterday Peter had to write an entire essay on the historical implications of ending the Anglo-Japanese Alliance, and he was not looking forward to another round of carpal tunnel. The documents provided had been horrifically vague, and some were even in Japanese.

He was glad he could at least read part of those, but Kiku had only taught them so much. Well, actually, he had only paid so much attention in Japanese class. The Staff would always say any stupidity demonstrated at IAHF was more often the students' fault.

"I heard they might have a Sexual Clarification exam this time around," Lila remarked casually as Ursula appeared, still bleary-eyed from her study session.

"Oh no they wouldn't," groaned Ursula.

"It's for graduates, anyway," MiMi Sonhart pointed out as she took a seat next to Ursula, fistbumping with Kira as she did so. Ursula wrinkled her nose. "I guess you get to look forward to it next semester! Sucks to be you!"

"You're graduating _this_ semester, though," Kira pointed out.

"It's a piece of cake," sniffed the African-American Vocaloid, whose voice sounded a little extra autotuned this morning. She took a bite of her scone and winced. "I think I lost some teeth… damn British cooking…"

Lila snorted. "I heard you were with Ursula in the Golag for the Anti-England movement. Did you really get high on gas?"

"DON'T REMIND ME!" Ursula screeched. "The fear. The noise. The INSANITY!"

"I don't think she needs that shit right before a test," snickered MiMi. "But Ursie makes it far too easy for people to pick on her."

"DON'T CALL ME URSIE!"

"You can say that again," Kira giggled.

* * *

><p>The day after that was the International Relations exam for the graduating students. Apparently horror stories had circulated amongst them about Francis springing essays on them about all the articles they'd ever read for the class, backed up with notes taken during debates and discussions. Fear was almost tangible amongst the graduating students, even though that weekend would be their last.<p>

Peter, as he watched the Nerd Group graduates spaz over their theories after dinner in the Café Foscarini (some of them were even nursing their sorrows with some alcohol, which obviously was a terrible idea but hey. Andy Kirk was watching him and Lila pointedly. Peter looked away, shuddering. Andy didn't have to wring that dishcloth like he was wringing Peter's neck.

"What the hell did Francis mean by social constructs?" groaned Birgit Kurvits suddenly. "Like all that stuff about race being a social construct and whatnot."

Suzanne Kobzeff looked up from her clarinet sheet music. "Were you, like, asleep when he was talking about constructivism?"

"Yeah, I think," Birgit muttered.

"Hypocrite," muttered Ulrich under his breath.

"Shut up. Someone explain to me what constructive-whatsits is."

"It's basically this," Erika Verena von Richtofen-Marlowe declared, before sticking her middle finger up at Birgit.

"Wha?" Birgit demanded, scowling.

"You took offense to that, didn't you?"

"Well, yes, that's rude…"

"Because society said it was rude. Now if I did this –" here Erika pantomimed grinding a pepper mill – "what do you think?"

"I dunno. What are you doing?"

"I'm calling you crazy."

"You are?"

"In Southern Italy that's how you do it. See? If you did this to Romano he would punch you in the face. But since you didn't know that was socially construed as rude at his house, you wouldn't have been offended if someone did it to you."

"Okay, so what?"

"So constructivism is the belief that everything we perceive in the world is defined by social constructs that we have all agreed to as a society. We've agreed that the school colour is _Bled_ and that it is blindingly _fugly_. We've agreed that GrammarBootCamp, Mr. Allen, and Fluffy Mint Bunnies are_ evil_. We've even agreed on the names of these things –"

"Well, I certainly wasn't there for that –"

"No, I mean the elements of language and the associations with objects we perceive. That's all as a result of a societal consensus – that this word should mean this and that word that. In that same way, then, race is a social construct because someone decided that differences ran more than skin-deep _because_ of the colour of your skin, and everyone else in that person's society agreed."

"That doesn't mean it's okay to be racist, though," Luna-also-known-as-Amethest pointed out as she walked by with MiMi and Ashton.

"That's true. Social constructs, because they are the products of mass consensus, have real-world impacts that harm other people. So therefore using the argument of 'race is a social construct' in a debate about the real-world implications of racism is an automatic ticket to Loserville. That," finished Erika with a satisfied grin, "is constructivism."

* * *

><p>"It's like the calm before the storm," Mr. Allen grumbled as he and Mr. Hugh sat on the roof. Mr. Hugh was cradling Emma; she was fast asleep in his arms and hopefully dreaming Takara-free dreams. Mr. Hugh nodded, shivering slightly in the spring breeze.<p>

From far away, the two could hear crashes and screams as marauding fangirls fell into rogue traps and plotholes often sprung by their own brethren. Mr. Hugh often wondered what it was about hormones that made their bearers so impervious to the concept of 'once bitten, twice shy'. Normal people wouldn't be so damn persistent about trying to get their lust objects, right?

But then again, these _are _fangirls…

"There go the entire Me Encanta España group, by the sounds of that," Mr. Allen remarked as the sounds of screaming and crashing echo downstairs, followed by the stomping of angry bull hooves.

"No sign of the Headmaster?" Mr. Hugh asked. Mr. Allen shook his head.

"We're searching. He appears to have dropped off the face of the planet. It's disconcerting. His blog hasn't updated in months and the students are holding vigils in his honour."

Mr. Hugh laughed quietly, looking out at the expanse of their school. It felt as if the world was holding its breath, waiting for the plunge.

"Something's about to happen. I don't know what, but I hope it happens after finals," he muttered.

Neither of them noticed the bridge forming within the Bled-stained depths of IAHF. Of course they wouldn't; they were on the roof.

* * *

><p>Francis's International Relations test, however, proved to cover more than just why 'fuck' was considered a bad word but not 'hippopotamus'.<p>

"I failed that so badly," sobbed Emerald Glee at lunch on Thursday, after the IR final. "What the hell did he even expect us to do with that sort of prompt?"

"What was it?" Erich von Richtofen-Marlowe demanded, still pointedly ignoring poor Samantha Marie Pappas. He poised gleefully against the Australia table with pen and paper in hand. Emerald sniffled.

"There were these two imaginary Nations called Gaga and Britney –"

"_What_?" demanded Aubrey Chee-Ong as she walked past with a platter of Lithuanian rye bread.

"Yeah, there are these two Nations called Gaga and Britney, and Gaga is this moderately well-off country that's a Christian, capitalist democracy whereas Britney is an impoverished Buddhist dictatorship."

"…What," declared Matsu with a grimace, "the hell."

Emerald rolled her eyes. "There's civil war in Britney, women are oppressed in Gaga, and –"

"I'm pretty sure there is something very ironic in all of that but I'm not sure what," Kartik Abingdon declared with his arm around Matsu's waist.

"And there are suicide bombers in Britney ready to attack Gaga should Gaga attack, because Gaga has a military alliance with the United States. We were supposed to talk about whether or not the two nations_ would _go to war and give a likely scenario about how it would play out."

"But that's _easy_," sniffed Tristan Hunter as he walked past as well. "Of course they're gonna go to war and of course Gaga's gonna win –"

"No they're not; they oppress half of the population," cut in Daisuke Saburo.

"Shut up, Gaga is better."

"That's because it's Mini-America."

"FREEDOOOOOOOOOOOOOM!" screeched Sasha K. Everthorne. Silence fell. "What?"

"It was a really strange prompt," concluded Emerald as some students inched away from Sasha. "And I'm glad I don't have to see it ever again."

"I think the U.S. and China would have used Gaga and Britney as satellite states to go against each other vicariously," mused Erika as she consulted her notes. "China would fund the dictatorship, and the United States the democracy – whom they're already allied to. And with the current shift of power from the U.S. to China –"

"Shhhhhhhhh!" hissed Glenda Rosenburg. "Don't let Alfred hear you say that!"

* * *

><p>That night some passing Mochis noticed the bridge in the depths of IAHF, and meeped to each other nervously as they bounced away to report to Eduard Von Bock.<p>

"A bridge?" Eduard whispered as the Mochis bounced away. He turned to Toris Laurinaitis and Raivis Galante. "Can it be?"

"What do you think it means?" Toris asked.

Arthur Kirkland perked up. "I heard something about a bridge. What's going on?" he called from the other side of the room. The other Nations paused; silence seeped through the room, thickening into tension by the minute.

"There is a bridge just outside Auchwits. It just appeared a couple moments ago. Do you know what it means?" Eduard asked.

Arthur paled. "I might," he breathed.

"What… what do you mean?" Alfred demanded from next to him. "Have you seen it before?"

"Historical precedent elsewhere, I think," Arthur replied. "Ever heard of it? The story _Suedom_, from the Lord of the Rings fandom?"

"Napoleon and American me were researching about things like that over the break," Workbitch muttered, looking up from his sixth glass of brandy.

"Exactly. That bridge – the Bridge – was a connection between the Prime Multiverse and the Mirror Multiverse versions of Middle-earth. It allowed over a horde of Mary Sues that tried to swamp out Arda until two girls, trapped in the bodies of the Sues, came over and destroyed it."

"Does that mean we have to destroy it?" breathed Alfred. He coughed after a moment and stood up. "I suppose that means we'll have to destroy it! Come on, Ivan, crack out the nukes –"

He never got to finish his sentence, because suddenly the room exploded in Bled and he knew no more.

* * *

><p>Peter had never felt freer after the 'What's in a Name' finals on Friday. He and Lila walked out to the lake hand-in-hand that afternoon, watching several of the other students – especially the graduates – rush out onto the lawn to enjoy the sunshine.<p>

"They should probably get all of that in today. I don't think the good weather's going to last," Lila breathed, and Peter watched her gaze shift towards Lake Eric, towards the far horizon where ominous Shit Just Got Real Clouds™ were looming. "Something big's coming."

"You're not just saying that because the denizens beyond the fourth wall want you to, right?" Peter asked, shivering.

"Would 'no, my Shit's Going Down senses are tingling like crazy and I can feel it in my very being' be an acceptable answer?"

"So you can predict major plot changes now." Peter grinned.

"No, the Shit Just Got Real Clouds™ are hovering ominously over there for a Reason. I'm sure of it."

"What do you mean by – aaaugh!" Peter whirled around to see R'lyeh, accompanied by Boris and Alexis Cal. Indeed, the reason the brunet had screamed was because Boris had brushed past him. "What!"

"Bit not good?" R'lyeh asked, smiling strainedly. "As an Eldritch horror I think I have the right to say ominous things like 'the world has changed; I feel it in the water; I feel it in the earth; I smell it in the air' – but that would be far too dramatic. What I'm here to say is that there's been a break-in to the supplies of the Café Foscarini, and Lila's brother has been rendered unconscious by a giant dose of Aura of Smooth."

"Mary Sues." Lila growled.

Without second thought the group of them rushed back into the building, past the innocent relaxing students. In the Café Foscarini, however, things were the opposite of calm. People were running to and fro, screaming, hiding, throwing glasses at each other. Mary Sues were pouring out of the storage room.

"Kriss and Megan have fled to the Supernatural fandom, and Merka to the Once-ler fandom!" someone cried as Peter gaped at the pandemonium before him, not sure whether to duck or fight. Lila grabbed the someone as they ran past; it was Charlie, his eyes wild.

"What are you on about?" she demanded.

"IAHF is being taken over!" he cried, but no sooner had he said that did a hand shoot out of seemingly nowhere – a perfectly manicured hand – and grabbed his wrist, slapping Lila's hand away. Out of a plothole stepped a girl with ridiculously long multicoloured hair and matching eyes, dressed in blinding shades of neon pink and orange.

"My name is Imogene Kate Middlton Deryn Razziel Fluttershine Fraser, and I claim this school for the Mirror Multiverse! All hail me!"

Charlie howled in pain. "No! You have no power over me! Hughie! Hughie –"

"He has already bent to my will," sneered Imogene. "All of this will be mine. Hail Imogene!"

Charlie began to sob. Peter made to move away from the scene; Lila was dragging him towards the storage closet in hopes of finding her brother. R'lyeh, Boris, and Alexis had fled the scene as soon as the Mary Sue Overlady had appeared.

"I won't bow… I won't… I…" he faltered, his eyes shifting out of focus and fogging over. "Hail Imogene."

The storm wasn't_ coming_. There was no escape. How could you expect to outrun it, when it was already there?

**END SEMESTER TWO**

* * *

><p><strong>Notes:<strong> Well that took a while. Sorry for any derps and lapses in narrative quality that you may notice.

The IR exam question was actually on my International Relations midterm. It was beautiful.

_Suedom_ belongs to Andy and Saphie, and Imogene to Katy Honda Chan (thank god). But if you think about the Mary Sue invasion in IAHF1 as WW1, I suppose this one is like WW2 of sorts, complete with crazy Mary Sue dictators.

Woot, onto the last 25 chapters!


	51. Your Chumhandles Will Bring Us Victory

**Notes:** Trigger warnings for this entire fucking semester – war, Holocaust/WW2 parallels, lots and lots of violence, discrimination, Mary Sues. And so forth.

* * *

><p><strong>Bled-Stained Days at Mirror Multiverse-Occupied IAHF: Year One of the Thousand-Year Sparklereign<strong>

_(translation: Bled-Stained Days at the International Academy of Hetalia Fanfiction: Semester Three)_

**Part I**

_Hail Imogene._

_Hail Our Dear Leader who brings peace to all, hail her and her Rapunzel-long hair that shines with all the colours of the rainbow. Hail Our Dear Leader who has more colours in her eyes than there are on a Photoshop pallete._

_Hail Imogene, she who will give us more living space, she who brings glory to the name of Mary Sue, she who rains Glitter and justice onto all. All shall love her and despair._

_Hail – _

* * *

><p>"Hello? Hello? Can you hear me?"<p>

"Yes we can, fujoshiLuminary. Go on."

"Thank you, alarmingRomulan. Lurkers of the world, unite! Sorry we couldn't make it to you on the airwaves sooner; the Sparkle Police have been trying to jam our signals and our correspondents keep on going missing. I suppose it's because those stupid creepers and Suvian students have sided with the enemy and keep trying to do us in, but –"

"But we've got to press on during these hard times, isn't that right?"

"Quite right. Well, tonight we've brought in guest correspondent fraulineForensics. Hello, FF!"

"Hello."

"How did you escape the first wave of purgings? I heard most the Staff members were reduced to slobbering imbeciles by the Aura of Smooth."

"Oh, I was in a plothole at the time with some other uncanonical Staff members."

"And now you've all taken refuge with us over here in the Underground, I see."

"Yeah it's a shame that Charlie Tenterden and Taylor Drews-Garcia were brainwashed, but historicPastry managed to escape – and that's doubly good for him, because I hear the Mary Sues are installing the Final Problem –"

"You mean the Final Solution."

"Yeah, something like that."

"Tell us more."

"They're planning to weed out all the nerds on campus. All the intellectuals and stuff, people who value Hetalia for its historical satire. They're trying to install this new… well… they're trying to put in a brainwashing camp."

"CthulhuMythos talked about his experience in a brainwashing camp last time. Would it have been anything like that, do you think?"

"Well, FL, I don't really know if his account's totally accurate, because CM's experience was cut short when he and Jennifer were rescued by masqueradingGondola and ironicMulberries. They never really got into the thick of the experience and believe me; it looks pretty gruesome out there."

"No kidding, FF, we've endured plenty of Glitter Bombs these past few days. Just yesterday the new students arrived just in time for a systematic bombing of the Underground! But you know what the League of Extraordinary Anglophiles say – Keep Calm and Carry On. And speaking of the LEA, here's jammyDodgers and her interpreter instrumentalVirtuoso."

"Thank you! JD and I are very pleased to be here. I'm sorry if my voice is a bit too singsong – it does get that way, I guess. In any case, it's good to hear that the graduating students have largely made it home in one piece before the school fully collapsed, but I'm sure there are stragglers hanging out in the no man's land. And it's a shame that the new students won't be able to really experience IAHF because of this state of war. And speaking of war, the Flyers are out again, taking out the bomber dragons that the Rainbow Overlord's got out there, and we have the Nurses from the Hospital Wing moved into the Underground – we're all in this together, after all."

"Very true, and no, AR, don't you dare start singing that song."

"_We're all in this together_ –"

"I said no!"

"Fine."

"The rundown of this week, then. Any casualties that the _Bled Chronicles_ aren't keeping track of?"

"They're not keeping track of anything, really; not since Shinbun-kun got brainwashed –"

"All right, well. We regret to announce that Erich von Richtofen-Marlowe and Samantha Marie Pappas were captured the other day by the Sparkle Police, which have unfortunately expanded to include some of the newer students as well."

"Yes, wasn't there one girl who said she was an informant-slash-fujoshi on her form? She played a huge part in their capture. Other Nerd Group members are still being rounded up."

"I hope nothing's happened to your dorkyFanatic, FL."

"He's perfectly fine. He's studying with brittleSarcasm and seaportEnthusiast at the moment."

"Good. Unfortunately Kartik Abingdon and Matsu Takeshima weren't so fortunate in their plight; they were killed by the Suestapo last night –"

"Yes, that's the difference between the Suestapo and the Sparkle Police – the Suestapo have the authority to kill on sight and wear more lurid uniforms, and are comprised of only Mary Sues. The Sparkle Police have student informants within their ranks. Unfortunately if you find yourself in close proximity to a Suvian student or someone with serious grammar issues on their registration forms, you will soon realise that you cannot trust them. At all. These are dark, uncertain times."

"Yes, they are. Sorry, am I intruding? Hello!"

"Hello, honeyDapper! I thought you were with cthulhuMythos?"

"He's directing the Flyer attack again. You're doing all right, AR?"

"Never been better, honey. You look terrible."

"Sorry. I have the casualty lists for the flight battles as of now. Sixteen dead on our side, many more on theirs."

"Today or total?"

"Total, thank glod."

"What about today?"

"Three. I regret to inform you all that Sasha K. Everthorne, Ariana Beatrice Grant, and Eliza Keaton have been killed in action today, burnt down by the bomber dragons out there."

"We will now take a moment of silence for them."

* * *

><p>"Well, it's a pity we're not able to access the IAHF conservatory to get the necessary ingredients to resurrect our casualties. The Nurses however are keeping all salvageable bodies in a cryogenic plothole for future resurrection. So don't fear; we will have our comrades back in time."<p>

"Yes indeed. Now, let's turn things over to historicPastry for an update on the home front. How's it holding up over there with the new students?"

"Ah, thank you all. Well. New students, hm. My little brother happens to be attending this semester – he's henceforth known as sanctimoniousHermetic, thank you. And really, who decided to call me historicPastry? I rather preferred methodicalHagiocracy –"

"Well you're not exactly a government and you're not quite holy, so we gave that handle to someone else."

"Yeah, I guess. Anyway, back on track. New students. Aside from my _charming_ little brother, the new students have quickly taken sides – the more intellectual ones have obviously joined us, and their polar opposites the Sparkle Police. As we all know, informant Scarlet Rokudo is one of the new students and a very, very dangerous peer. You cannot trust her. She is tall with blue eyes and something she calls 'hir' which she 'dais' every other week. She barely writes; she prefers speaking. She's also very often in the company of a half-rainbow student named Turtle-weed obrain, who has a Bled eye."

"That's good to know, thank you. What else, HP?"

"Many of the newcomers are glad that there aren't any classes, but we are working to rectify that – we need volunteers from our dwindling pool of intellectuals to try and teach the newcomers. Food supplies are running low; I propose a raid in the near future on the food stores in the main building."

"Ah, food running out is never a good idea. You can probably get plenty of help with that; we're all experts on trying to sneak into the Staff Section, aren't we?"

"Oh definitely. Everyone, ration out what you've got. With the supply plothole's offerings being diverted to our Sparkly Overlords, it's only going to get harder from here on out to eke out a living in the Underground –"

"Wait, that's an air raid siren. We'll be back in a bit."

* * *

><p>"Well, that was tedious!"<p>

"Easy for you to say. Welcome back cthulhuMythos from the front line, everyone!"

"Greetings, all."

"How was the battle?"

"You heard the casualties from HD. Three down on our side, countless on theirs. But then again, the average Mary Sue isn't a hard target. It's only unfortunate that there are so _many_ of them and that they're controlled by above-average Mary Sues. Like our dear Adolf Sparkler."

"I don't think that's a very orthodox nickname for _her_."

"She isn't a very orthodox person, is she?"

"Good point. CM, I've been meaning to ask you this for a bit."

"Ask, then."

"Do you think that Jennifer Chang could have escaped death?"

"Well, it's not improbable, but I did see her disappear before my very eyes."

"Can you always trust your eyes?"

"You can only arrive at the truth by eliminating the impossible, and though the chances of Jennifer having escaped that particular attack were very slim, there's always the hope that she's out there, out of harm's way. I only wish her safety after all she's been through."

"If she's still alive, then, what implications would that suggest for us?"

"From what I've heard, she helped kill some Mary Sues last year in your Project Roswell maze. Her courage lies beyond doubt. If she is still alive, I believe she will be on our side, furthering our cause elsewhere. If she's still alive, she will find her way back to us somehow."

"A very touching sentiment. See, I knew there was humanity in you."

"Shut up."

"Rumour has it, though, that one – if not both – of our Course Coordinators has escaped the purge and are on the run. Do you think they're still alive, CM?"

"Well, I know Fraser managed to shake off the… what did you call it again? Suefluence? I know he managed to escape that and go into hiding because his capitulation to such forces would have been of tremendous importance to the Mary Sues, him being their mortal enemy and all –"

"More like their Sam Winchester, since all the Sues he fucks _die_ –"

"You can't say that based off only _one_ instance, AR!"

"_Excuse me, I am speaking_!"

"Sorry, CM."

"Yes, you had better. In any case, had Fraser been caught the Sues would have broadcast it. And I suppose the same could have gone for Clarke, but our surveillance has turned up naught on his presence on campus. Either he has disappeared with Fraser or the Sues are keeping him where our eyes cannot see him."

"Not very heartening. What do you think you would like to say to Jennifer and the Messrs if you knew they were listening, though?"

"I have no idea what I'd say to the Course Coordinators, but I know I'd tell Jennifer that wherever she is, I'll believe in her. I'll believe in her intelligence and her courage to get herself out of whatever trouble she's in."

"Are you sure you're not actually human?"

"Shut_ up_."

"Just teasing. Any updates on other Staff members on the lam who aren't in the Underground?"

"The Pirates have sailed away, I hear; Pirate Arthur was trying to get asylum at the Modern Baker Street Fanfiction Academy."

"Here's to hoping he does. The PPC have been sheltering some of them – specifically ataxophobicElleth, chocoholicAssassin, and matespiritConverter, but germanophileBicarbonate has been helping shelter some of the refugees as well. Do you think, CM, that the PPC will come to our aid again?"

"I doubt it, actually. They've been having their own issues over there. They're not obliged to fight for every invaded OFU. No, I think it's safe to assume we're going to be on our own for the duration. It'd be good to have reinforcements, but we can never rely on that sort of hope."

"What sort of hope would you give, then?"

"Well, we have managed to keep ourselves afloat here since the start of the invasion. I do not doubt that we can continue this, however morally taxing it will get. And sometimes I know it will be hard to resist the temptation to lie down and give up. But I have seen the horrors that await surrender, and I tell you that even creatures of my calibre shudder to experience the terrors that the Mary Sues would have in store.

"The Lurkers' Underground expects everyone to do their duty. If we do, we shall prove ourselves – once again! – able to defend this school from the menace of Glitter and Suedom – if necessary, for years, if necessary, alone. Such is the will of the Lurkers' Underground. As distant as we may be in our interests, we are all linked together with a common love for Hetalia, a common respect for the Canon, a common need to defend our freedom from the hands of the Mary Sues. We will defend to the death what is rightfully our home, aiding each other like good comrades to the utmost of our strength, even though other parts of IAHF have fallen or may fall into the grip of the Suestapo and all the odious apparatus of the Mirror Multiverse's rule.

"We shall not flag nor fail. We shall go onto the end. We shall fight in the Café Foscarini and on Lake Eric; we shall fight with growing confidence and growing strength in the air. We shall defend IAHF, whatever the cost may be; we shall fight on desks, in the cafeteria, in the hallways, and on the lawn. We shall never surrender."

"Well, that was very much in the style of Winston Churchill! Impressive indeed, CM. You bring heart to us all, and that's a bit ironic considering the lack of yours."

"Thank you."

"Well, listeners, that brings us to the end of another broadcast from the Lurkers' Union. We will be back; we're not sure when, so don't hold your breath but do tune in. Good night!"

* * *

><p><strong>Notes:<strong> This chapter is brought to you by _Potterwatch_ and Winston Churchill. Huge amounts of thanks to FrigginGoddess for providing me with the code names. I hope that wasn't too confusing.

**Quick key to the characters, in order of mentions:**

Lila: fujoshiLuminary

Alexis: alarmingRomulan

Ema: fraulineForensics

Franklin: historicPastries

R'yleh: cthuluMythos

Venezia: masqueradingGondola

Julietta: ironicMulberries

Charley Maytha: jammyDodgers

Midori Harrison: instrumentalVirtuoso

Peter: dorkyFanatic

Ursula: brittleSarcasm

Kira: seaportEnthusiast

Boris: honeyDapper

Franklin's brother: sanctimoniousHermetic

Michael Arch: methodicalHagiocracy

Eledhwen: ataxaphobicElleth

Christianne: chocoholicAssassin

Kitty: matespritConverter

Karen: germaophileBicarbonate

The handles 'sanctimoniousHermetic' and 'methodicalHagiocracy' are actually Holmestuck Pesterchum handles for Sherlock Holmes and Mycroft Holmes, but I'm stealing them for my own nefarious purposes. Heh.

And for future reference, the Underground just means the dorms, probably more specifically the girls' dorms (but I'm pretty sure there's got to be some underground connection between the girls' and boys' dorms, and that's where all of this is taking place.)


	52. Faces on the Memorial Wall

**Notes:** Warning for violence, gore, torture, death, and Suvian creepiness.

* * *

><p><strong>Part II<strong>

The first thought that came to Jennifer Chang's mind was 'what the fuck'.

The second, as she sat up and looked around her, was a wish that she could unsee the monstrosity before her.

She was standing in front of a castle – or what should be a castle, but looked more like it was crafted out of angel butts – that seemed to glow Bled by the sheer concentration of Sueishness within its walls.

"Our Dear Leader is obtaining lebensraum for us. Hail Imogene!" shouted Satow. He and Kane quickly snapped their ankles together and saluted a passing statue of a girl with long hair.

Jennifer stared.

Satow noticed her staring, and rounded on her. "You must salute the Dear Leader!" he shouted. "Pathetic Prime Multiverse scum! Do you not realise her glory? Her beauty? Too long have you dwelt in ignorance of all the power you could have obtained by joining forces with Suedom. Too long have the PPC brainwashed you all into believing that you must play by the rules. Down with the Canon! Hail Imogene!"

"Crazy," muttered Jennifer.

"_What was that_?" snarled Satow. Jennifer half expected him to suddenly begin to speak with a German accent, like the sort found in Disney World War Two-era propaganda.

"Oh, no, I meant crazy as in 'crazy not to have thought of it sooner'!" Jennifer amended hastily, beaming at him. "Hail your Dear Leader?"

The statue seemed to glower at her as they passed by. Jennifer looked at the Chronotransporter in Kane's hands; it carried a rather sickly tinge to it, as if it seemed almost… regretful? Anxious?

They approached the castle – or, according to some random Words floating past, the 'buttiful castiel' – and with every step forward, Jennifer grew more and more convinced that Dear Leader Imogene was a sick, twisted loony.

(_No shit, Jennifer_.)

But in any case they soon reached the entrance to the castle, which was guarded by two ugly hags that only vaguely looked like Kriss and Merka. Jennifer gaped in shock at the vacant expressions on their distorted faces and the fogginess in their eyes.

"Oh my god," she breathed. "Oh my god. You couldn't have…"

* * *

><p>"What did they do to you?" Samantha Marie Pappas cried as Erich von Richtofen-Marlowe looked up from his cell. They were in the same set of quarantine camps that had held the Special People group in the first year; all of the prisoners were separated from each other by stone walls. The quarantine cell block looked very much like old castle dungeons, and conditions within were just as bad as they were in the Venetian <em>pozzi<em>.

Erich looked over at her, eyes haunted; he was sitting in the cell across from her. "Nothing," he said, but it was an obvious lie even from where she sat; she could see the shadows of burns and scars.

"Nothing looks rather painful," she pointed out.

"Does it matter?" he replied, looking at her forlornly.

Samantha looked at her hands, already grimy with the rust of the prison bars. Footsteps echoed in the corridor.

"They're coming for you," Erich murmured, not breaking eye contact, and Samantha gulped.

"It does matter, for the record," she breathed as a Mary Sue with neon blue hair entered and unlocked her cell, seizing her by her wrist and dragging her away. "It does matter!"

Samantha was blindfolded and hurried along hallways and corridors and up an elevator of sorts, but only when they reached an office of sorts did the blackness get pulled away from her face. The office was messy. Extremely messy.

At the desk sat a girl with rainbow hair, a curled ahoge, violently Urple eyes, one Urple wing, and an Urple dress. Samantha was forced into the seat across from her, and the door to the office was shut. She could hear a growling behind her, but she dared not turn.

"That's fluffy munchkins," the Urple-loving Sue said, almost offhandedly. Samantha blinked.

"Sorry?" she asked.

"My pet wolf. Her name is fluffy munchkins." She beamed innocently at Samantha, but her Urple eyes – which were already nauseating and blinding to look at – seemed to glint with malice. "Comply with me, and maybe you'll get on her good side, too! I absolutely hate having to hurt people."

Somehow Samantha didn't believe that. It could be because there was still blood on the desk, or the sinister-looking sharp objects sitting behind her interrogator – sinister-looking sharp objects that looked recently used.

"What did you do to Erich?" she breathed, eyes wide.

"He wasn't seeing the light," replied the Mary Sue casually. "My name is Serenity Moonshine Starlight Unicornbutt, and I'm going to be your new best friend!"

The door to the office suddenly opened and Ivan Braginski, dressed only in a pair of golden hotpants that would've made Rocky from Rocky Horror Picture Show feel well-covered, poked his head into the room.

"Serenity darling?" he asked in a breathy falseletto. Samantha nearly laughed at the ludicrousness of such a line from the Russian, but then she noticed the vacant expression in his face, the clouded look in his eyes.

She sobered immediately.

"Not now, Evie-kins," tittered Serenity. "I'll tend to your hammer and sickle later! Bye-bye!"

"Okay," whimpered Ivan, and left the room. Samantha gaped at Serenity.

"What'd you do to _him_?" she demanded.

"Now now, don't get your panties in a twist," Serenity giggled, tossing her rainbow hair behind her shoulder. Her breasts bounced very disturbingly, as if they were trying to defy gravity. "We're taking such good care of your teachers! Now please, answer these questions for me…"

* * *

><p>They were back in the alternate timeline Venice again. Venezia and Julietta had spent their days hiding from wandering Mary Sues possibly out to catch them – the 'Wanted' posters with their faces on it were quite the giveaways. Alicia was covering her bases.<p>

Obviously it was a bit of a stupid move to return to Venice, but there really was nowhere else to go and the PPC had enough problems on their hands without having to deal with two rogue Mary Sues trying to find refuge. They couldn't risk entering other timelines, and they already knew the terrain – or lack thereof – of the city.

They hadn't anticipated seeing a certain blond-haired and thick-browed diplomat at their inn, though.

True, all of them were wearing masks despite it not being Carnival time, but Venezia couldn't mistake Fraser's eyes. Sometimes they were all she ever thought about, and Julietta for some reason _knew_. Knew and _teased_ her to no end about it. Pot, meet kettle.

"It's a lovely night out there," Fraser noted as Venezia headed over to his table. "Surely you've better ways to spend your time than sitting in a pub."

"What are you doing here?"

"I'd say it was rather simple," Fraser replied, shrugging. He already had half a goblet of wine drunk. "I'm in hiding."

"Well, that makes three of us," Julietta declared, giggling as she took a seat next to him. "I'm Julietta Shakespeare Vargas!"

"Pleasure to meet you. Hugh Fraser." The diplomat crossed his arms and legs and leant back in his chair, eyes scrutinising Venezia, who wished for nothing more than a fan to hide her glowing face.

"You must've met Vennie before," continued Julietta blithely, even as Venezia glared sharply at her. "She represents Venice. I represent Verona. Isn't it lovely?"

"Mm." Fraser sipped his wine. "And I am but a humble diplomat who strayed from his refuge in the English embassy. Are there others out there?"

"Other Mary Sues?" asked Julietta, beaming at a passing waiter as she ordered her and Venezia some goblets of wine.

"Mm. I should probably surrender myself to your good graces, but despite my inebriation I still have a shred of dignity somewhere in here."

"We're in hiding, too. Didn't you hear that earlier?" Venezia demanded, looking over her shoulder and still refusing to sit. "We're wanted for helping two of your students escape. And we should get away from the window."

"Anyone looking in the window would really have to look to see us," Fraser pointed out.

"Still. It's not safe. I'd say we retire to one of our rooms to discuss matters, but even walls have ears."

"We could go to the fish market tomorrow morning and talk about it there," Fraser suggested.

Venezia pursed her lips. "The smell is excruciating."

"It's either here or there. We'd still run the chance of getting caught, no matter where we are. Venice is a city of masks." Fraser looked into the depths of his now-empty goblet and sighed. "I ought to get back to the embassy."

"You don't trust us, though, do you?" Julietta piped up again, as her drinks arrived. Fraser raised an eyebrow behind his mask. "Even though we were right about the Chronotransporter."

"You're very astute," remarked the diplomat as he pushed back his chair and clambered to his feet, straightening out his ruffly collar. "I'm sorry about doubting the information, but you know… Venezia did feed misinformation to Gerolamo Vano, and I'm not particularly inclined to trust Mary Sues."

"I'm sorry," replied Venezia simply, as the diplomat brushed past her on his way out the door. "I really am."

He turned back to look at her coolly. "It's fine," he muttered, before disappearing into the crowd.

* * *

><p>"who r u," asked the Not-Kriss.<p>

Jennifer nearly threw up on the spot. She felt on the verge of collapsing, and it was only with the help of Satow – for some reason he didn't particularly want to let her collapse on the random drawbridge into the castle, or better yet into the Urple-watered moat filled with swans. Those swans were probably part-piranha anyway.

"You shouldn't talk to these ugly losers," sneered Kane as she swept past Not-Kriss and Not-Merka. But Jennifer couldn't help but send pitying glances back towards the drawbridge of the castle. Said pitying glance was soon getting overworked, though, by the appearance of dozens and dozens of ugly crones.

_All of the female students_, Jennifer quickly realised in horror as she watched their distorted faces trickle and drip like melted wax. She shuddered a bit at the utter grotesqueness of their features; they seriously reminded her of Epsilons from Brave New World.

But if the non-Suvian females were Epsilons, then that would only make the males…

"hay gurl! hows it goin?" a voice dripping in campness demanded suddenly. Jennifer turned to see an extremely buff man with curly brown hair, glasses, and criminally tight trousers.

"Franklin?" she demanded incredulously.

"dunno who ur talkin bout, gurl, cuz peeps here call me da cake boi," replied Not-Franklin, rolling up the sleeves of an extremely tight Purple Shirt of Sex™. Jennifer could've sworn her eyes were the size of dinner plates. "cum here darlin' and lemme luv ur body."

"Um… no thanks. Why don't you go try fucking some red velvet cake?" Jennifer demanded, grinning hastily as she rushed away from him, after Satow and Kane who had already crossed the courtyard. Not-Franklin tried to follow, but was quickly whisked away by someone else (probably Not-Taylor, who was probably disappointed that Franklin couldn't charm her into joining their threesome or something).

She passed a giant fountain-statue-thing of the same girl with the same ridiculous long rainbow hair. Well, Dear Leader Imogene certainly looked like she was compensating for something. Probably the small size of her brain, but more likely the small size of her breasts. After all, the giant statue showed her with unrealistic, gravity-defying tits.

The entire place seemed to be fuelled with sexual frustration and hormones. Jennifer wondered if this was done on purpose to torment her about her own drama problems.

* * *

><p>Ursula strode out of the Underground Hospital Wing in her nurse's outfit, out to meet the casualties of the latest bombing. The air raid sirens had died, but the lights were still flashing red all over the corridors of the dormitories, casting everyone into light and shadow.<p>

She arrived at the entrance to the dorms just as the Mochis bounced in, bearing on their backs the bodies of the wounded and the fallen. Nurse Florance Nightingail quickly opened the cryogenic plothole and shoved the dead into it; Ursula paid no attention to the others lining the hallways with red eyes and Kleenex as the Mochi procession hurried in.

"Ursula!" someone gasped from the crowd. Ursula rushed over to see one of the newcomers, Liva Airivy. God, there was so much blood… Ursula fought valiantly with her churning stomach and her urge to retch, and patted Liva's hand nervously.

"You're going to be all right, you're going to…" she breathed, feeling the other student's head for a fever. A random set of rainbow wings popped out of Liva's shoulders, but she forced them back, hacking wildly and coughing up Glitter.

"Are they going to amputate my leg?" she whimpered, and with a jolt Ursula realised that one of Liva's legs was horribly mangled, the flesh hanging in grotesque strips and – oh dear glod, was that _bone_?

"We'll think of something," Ursula replied vaguely, before injecting the liquefied Bleeprin and the morphine and falling back as Liva was carried off and another wounded student took her place.

When the wounded students were all administered Bleeprin and morphine to dull the aches of their battles (and some shallower wounds were tended to and bandaged), Ursula finally straightened and took a deep breath, turning to head back into the bowels of the girls' dormitory. The aboveground levels of the boys' and girls' dorms were all routinely inspected by the Sues and were still used by most students as dormitories, but try as the Sues might they were unable to find the location of the entrance into the Underground proper.

It was a godsend, this underground network of tunnels and chambers that ran deep enough to avoid bombs and was fortified enough for attack. It'd been carved out by Belgium and Vietnam and hidden for emergency use, and presented itself much like the entrance to the Room of Requirement at Hogwarts. The Underground was where the escaped Staff, the Nerds, and the prominent members of the Lurkers' Union lived. Unfortunately though, there were only so many supplies to go around in there.

The relocated Hospital Wing was in the Underground. Peter was at the doors to the tunnels, holding them open for the Mochis and the casualties, and Ursula smiled faintly at him as she walked past. Had it only been two weeks since all of this started? Had they seriously missed April Fools because the Staff was largely brainwashed and the Mary Sues thought that destroying the supplies in the cafeteria kitchen was a good April Fools prank?

Had it really been two weeks since she last thought that Peter was an incompetent idiot and that Kira was a creepy immature brat?

Speaking of Kira, the Black half-panda half-star girl was looking at the Memorial Wall just outside the Wardroom.

"They're having a meeting in there later, yo," she told Ursula as she walked up to look at the wall next to her, hands behind her back. "They're waiting on Peter."

Ursula peeked into the Wardroom to see Mary Crawford, Howard the Spy, and Stanley South standing at the head with a projector screen, and R'lyeh, Boris, Charley Maytha, Midori Harrison, Lila Kirk, Sara Parker, and Erika von Richtofen-Marlowe (who had returned as soon as Alex Pierce let slip to her that her brother had been captured) sitting at the tables.

"What are they going to discuss?" she asked Kira, who shrugged and turned back to the wall.

Sixteen dead in combat, two Nerds killed, two Nerds taken prisoner. Ursula suppressed the urge to cry, even though she didn't really know any of the fallen – the first casualty, Yuki-rin Oxenstierna, had died defending Pirate Arthur's ship as he fled to safety, and the rest had fallen in both ground and aerial skirmishes.

So twenty dead or captured. Ursula traced the pictures on the walls. There was Yuki-rin Oxenstierna, and Matsu Takeshima, and Kartik Abingdon, and Samantha Pappas, and Erich von Richtofen-Marlowe. And then there were Axel Hoit, Tamantha Smith and her robot Roberta, Sasha K. Everthorne, Eliza Keaton, Ariana Beatrice Grant.

Princie Fraser was deeply mourned by his friend Dex Thomson. The Zhao twins died together.

Idun and the picture she brought of her family were placed side-by-side on the wall.

Sara the Awesome's history book was now in the keeping of the Nerd Group. Tristan Hunter had helped Yuki-rin defend Pirate Arthur's turf. Mio Garcia's last painting was on the wall.

Lilla McCall's violin music seemed to haunt the halls of the girls' dormitories, even though she had only been on campus for a week and a half.

And Regade Opacus fell defending a fandom he technically didn't belong to.

Ursula looked at all of their pictures; next to her Kira had started crying, and without even realising it Ursula put a hand on the half-panda's shoulders and squeezed, smiling sadly.

"I didn't really know any of them," Kira sniffled. "And now they're dead, and I feel so guilty for living when they died…"

"It's going to be all right," a third voice piped up, and the two older girls looked down at eight-year-old Anna Nightingale, who was still clutching a child's gas mask from the air raid earlier. "Isn't it?"

"Yeah," lied Ursula, as Kira hugged Anna, sobbing wildly into her shirt. "It's going to be all right."

* * *

><p>Samantha screamed. And cried. And begged for it to stop, because Serenity was drowning her, and burning her, and replacing her blood vessels with metal rods –<p>

Or at least that's what it felt like.

Serenity snapped her fingers, and the pain ebbed for a moment. But it was still there, a slight uncomfortable prickling, like a thousand needles stabbing at her, barely stabbing at her –

"Well then?" Serenity asked calmly, sweetly, as if she hadn't spent the last couple of minutes making Samantha feel the mental equivalent of being carved alive. "Where are the other Nerds?"

"I – I don't know, I really don – AAUGH!" Tears rolled down Samantha's face as Serenity prepared to snap her fingers again. "I don't know where they are –"

"Talia Hefairy found you two sneaking into the library. Is that your hidey-hole? Will we find you all in book forts? I'd really love to know."

"I'm not telling – no! Aaaugh, no, please have mercy! Mercy!"

"I save my mercy for those who deserve it!" sneered Serenity, and snapped her fingers again. Pain washed over Samantha in waves; she cried and screamed and tried to wriggle out of her chair, but apparently Serenity's mental pain powers could also hold people in place.

It felt like ages before the pain ebbed with another snap, but when Samantha opened her eyes again her stomach churned wildly.

Apparently when she had been lost to the agony they had brought Erich in, hands bound in handcuffs that had probably wandered out of some sex shop in the red light district of Amsterdam. In the light of the office he looked even worse than she'd thought, with a black eye swelling beautifully and several other bruises and cuts. Probably the work of a Warrior-Sue. Samantha felt the prickle of tears again.

Erich was staring at her, eyes wide in shock and horror. Serenity, smiling calmly, turned to him with a dangerous glint in her Urple eyes.

"Do we have a deal? Or will I torture poor Miss Pappas again?"

Erich's mouth dropped open. He looked over at her, and Samantha realised with horror that there was a deadened look in his eyes.

Erich nodded.

* * *

><p>"Your rooms are here," Satow said suddenly, and Jennifer snapped out of her dreamlike trance that had been her way of coping with the faceless monsters that used to be her female peers and avoiding the attentions of the oversexed creatures that used to be her male peers. She'd wandered through the halls after Satow and Kane, totally ignoring everything around her – which was, as previously hinted, a good idea. After all, the walls also appeared to be painted with blinding shades of Urple and Bled, and decorated throughout with posters of Imogene's horrifyingly Suvian mug.<p>

"Oh, thanks," Jennifer muttered as she pushed open the door and entered the room.

It was almost blessedly devoid of Sue colours, this room. The surfaces were invariably different shades of generic, and even one-star motel rooms looked better than it, but Jennifer was glad for the piece of normality as she sank down onto the bed and stared at the ugly popcorn ceiling. Satow closed the door, and she could hear him locking it.

Oh, _brilliant_. The door locked from the outside? Now she was going to have to be extra careful.

Jennifer flung open the wardrobe. Several decent outfits existed within, but they were largely swamped out by the huge amounts of skimpy or over-frilly outfits (or both; nothing like a super-ruffly bikini). The Asian Anglophile found herself wincing at the very sight of them – seriously, these things were meant for supermodel bodies, and she most definitely did not have one.

"Yeah, way to make girls feel happy about themselves. Are you _trying_ to tempt me back into Sue-writing?" Jennifer demanded of the ceiling. "Are you trying to make me compensate for my body by compelling me to write a story with a female character that caters to the whims of the patriarchy, and then turning around and claiming that such characters are empowering to women? Fuck you and the Glittery unicorn you rode in on!"

The ceiling, of course, did not answer. But it probably felt very hurt at being the object of Jennifer's tirade, since the ceiling did no such thing. It was only an unfortunate stand-in for Imogene.

Jennifer flung the ruffly bikini back into the wardrobe with a fury and took out a black hoodie and a pair of jeans. Despite their horrifically tight look, they actually fit her snugly. A bit too snugly, though, but at least she could fit into them.

Mary Sues did have some room for thoughtfulness, perhaps.

Jennifer snorted to herself at that thought as she donned the black hoodie as well and walked over to a pair of French windows. They opened out onto a balcony, which was far nicer than her entire room and afforded a great view of the lands beyond the Buttiful Castiel of Doom. There was a bastardised version of Lake Eric, of course, and the moat, several bushes, and a very sparkly forest. Cute Animal Friends were everywhere.

And then she heard something. A rustle, in the bushes below. Her heart began to pound wildly; she slowly backed away from the railing of the balcony –

A dark figure dropped down in front of her, gun pointed at her chest.

Jennifer gulped.


	53. Ein Geschichte, Ein Liebe, Ein Mary Sue

**Notes:** Trigger warnings: Holocaust/KKK references, mild violence, hint of rape – all in the name of propaganda.

**Additional Disclaimers:** I don't own the Silm/BSG/Narnia/Harry Potter/LotR references (obviously), nor do I own the elements of the PPC and PPC/Multiverse history as used below.

* * *

><p><strong>Part III<strong>

"So the Mary Sues are planning something with their Cute Animal Friends," Erika Verena von Richtofen-Marlowe said, frowning as Charley Maytha moved several sparkly pieces forward on the map spread out in the centre of the wardroom. They'd moved together the tables to make space for their battle map, which was a map of IAHF complete with little figures of students and Sues (all lovingly crafted by Alik R. Parker in art class with SIM Feliciano).

"Yes; it's probably going to involve burning a part of the main building," Howard replied, moving a sparkly dragon-shaped piece towards the main building on the map. "I'm thinking it's either the library or the café, as those are some of the main hubs of student life at IAHF."

"I'm inclined to think it's the library," Sara Parker pointed out. Her boyfriend (and Lila's brother) Andy had been lost to the Sues; he had been knocked into a Character Replacement coma. As the barista-slash-bartender of the Café Foscarini, it was in his storeroom and on his turf that the Sues had first appeared.

"It's a logical choice," agreed R'lyeh. "But there's no time to counteract, no time to save the books or anything."

The Sparkle Police and the Suestapo had the place under constant surveillance. Many of the Nerds that had been captured or killed had been discovered in the vicinity of that most hallowed place of knowledge, with its extensive two storeys filled with more than two million books and its comfortable chairs by tall windows and roaring fireplaces. Those who escaped often lamented the loss of their access to the library, especially considering that many of them had read all the books they had checked out prior to the attack.

"Where's the Prez?" asked Boris suddenly, looking at Erika. Upon her graduation, the title of Prez of Nerd Group had been passed fully to her former co-Prez Fayane Tyme. Fayane now led an entire group-in-exile; she was scheduled to be at the wardroom meeting with the rest of them but was conspicuously absent.

"I hope she hasn't been caught," Erika mumbled. She had shadows under her eyes from worrying, from nights up late looking in the direction of the Staff Section – not to catch glimpses of Gilbert, Vash, or Tino, but to look for signs that her brother Erich may still be alive.

Whoever thought war was exciting or cute or anything other than depressing, stressful, and horrendous in general ought to be dumped into the middle of one. And many of the other students had realised that very quickly.

"What are our chances for retaliation?" Boris asked from his seat on the table with the tactical map. "Strike them before they can burn down our library?"

"Terrorism is a sign of weakness," R'lyeh pointed out.

"But we _are_ weak, in case you haven't figured that out," Alexis snapped. "We've lost access to the supply plotholes, we've had to reduce the rations to the Underground, and the only students who get fed well are the Sparkle Police and those who don't strongly side either way." As if to demonstrate her point, Peter's stomach growled extremely loudly at that moment; he cringed and looked away.

"Guerrilla fighting is the best offensive we have; we know the abysses and tunnels better than most of the Sues," agreed Lila. Sara Parker next to her was twiddling one of the student pieces.

"Ha, mostly because we've fallen into all of them at some point," muttered the Canada fangirl. "But I agree. It worked for the Viet Cong; it could work for us."

"You and your Com-nom-nom-unism," snorted R'lyeh.

_I don't see anything wrong with guerrilla warfare in this situation_, Charley Maytha said, _considering that the planes we managed to steal from the Staff hangars are running out of fuel and we have no idea where to get more. We can't fight from the skies for much longer, so why don't we fight in more familiar territory?_

"As long as we can sustain ourselves according to just war doctrine, we should be fine," concluded Erika. "What's the status of sickbay?"

"Slowly dwindling supplies of morphine and Bleeprin, as always," Mary Crawford said immediately.

"Food supplies?"

"We're going to have to cut down on chocolate rations soon to only one square per Underground resident. Anyone who can't deal will have to go in disguise to the Cafeteria with the other students," declared Midori with a sad bugle call. It sounded vaguely like Taps.

"Just war doctrine?" Peter asked suddenly.

"Oh, right, concept in International Relations that we should be covering soon," Erika said quickly. She was teaching the Underground's IR class in lieu of Francis Bonnefois being, at the moment, so out of character that any female who dared to venture near his lair had to carry ten cans of mace _and_ a tazer. "Just war doctrine says that war is morally legitimate in the name of justice. There are therefore certain reasons for starting and conducting wars, and both have to be legitimate reasons in order to maintain a just war. Some reasons to go to war would be: a just cause –"

"Like stopping a crazy dictator," added Sara.

"As a last resort –"

"When we've exhausted all peaceful means –"

"Something commanded by competent authority –"

"So it can't be conducted by an insane dictator –"

"Something with limited objectives and aims –"

"So no total annihilation –"

"And something with a reasonable hope for success," concluded Erika, "so it couldn't be conducted with good intentions in mind, but no resources to support them. It's immoral to fight a war in vain. There are other elements of just war doctrine that are also rather common sense, like proper discrimination between civilians and military to spare killing innocents, and the means of war being proportional to its goal."

"Right. Thanks." Peter looked back at the map. "In that case, then... if guerrilla warfare is our best chance, then I guess I'd be willing to help –"

At that moment, however, the door to the wardroom burst open and Fayane Tyme rushed in, hair and eyes wild.

"They're burning the library! The dragons are burning the library!"

The leaders of the student resistance – a coalition of the Lurker's Union, the League of Extraordinary Anglophiles, and the Nerd Group, amid others –rushed out of the wardroom and out of the Underground with several other students; they flashed their identification cards at the scanners at the stairwell and hurried up the stairs.

The new Sparklereign had introduced a system of identification cards and scanners in the dormitories to keep track of the movements of their students. Each card had a symbol placing the student into one of three categories, depending on their knowledge of the Canon. Those who put their knowledge of the Canon and history at four or less were labelled for special treatment and induction into the Sparkle Police; those who had the middle range from five to seven were treated like normal people to be brainwashed into Suvian ideology; those who rated eight and above were labelled as Nerds with a glasses symbol, forced to wear nerd glasses outside of the dorms, and generally labelled as enemies of the Sues.

But back to the students. Lila and Peter rushed to Lila's former room. Kagaya was there; she had barely greeted Lila before the other girl was rushing to the window, pulling up the shutters to look for the main building.

Sure enough, the wing that contained the library and its huge collection of priceless books was burning brightly in Urpley-Wilver flames, flames that danced across Lila's pale, shocked face. Peter took her hand, squeezing reassuringly as she turned from the sight, a hand clapped to her mouth.

Books are dangerous things, indeed. The fire raged into the night, and millions of priceless tomes were destroyed. The Nerds wept in their underground bunker, clinging onto each other for solace and strength. All they had left were the books they had checked out prior to the library's destruction.

The next morning, the Sues woke to find several dragon Cute Animal Friends killed, their Glittery blood seeping into the already-wilting grass.

From there, the Sparkly Regime cracked down.

* * *

><p>"Who are you?" the dark figure snapped, gun aimed to shoot Jennifer at point-blank range. Jennifer squeaked in fright.<p>

"Jennifer... Chang?"

"You look remarkably well-written for the Mirror-Jennifer," growled the figure.

"I'm not supposed to look like this?"

"You usually look more like a hag, no offence."

"I'm not sure whether to take it or not." Jennifer crossed her arms. "The better question is: who are _you_?"

"I don't have time to answer that now," snapped the figure. "Come along before they get you, too!"

And before Jennifer knew it, she was being tugged forward, onto the railing of the balcony. Thick piles of conveniently placed bushes lay below, but the figure seemed to be looking for something else. It straightened up after a moment, and turned to her.

"Jump," the figure commanded.

"What?" squawked Jennifer.

"Jump, now! Or would you like to deal with Mirror-Hugh and Mirror-Takara?"

"I'm coming, I'm coming!" Jennifer groused, before squeezing her eyes shut and leaping off the railing.

Someone else quickly caught her; she opened her eyes to see another black-clad figure. This one had a more feminine silhouette; as she removed her helmet and visor dark skin and kinky black hair could be seen.

"Jennifer Chang, I presume?" sniffed the woman.

* * *

><p>The students filed into the Orientation Hall, eyes wide with trepidation at the giant screen behind the bright Bled podium. Hand-in-hand with Peter, Lila strode into the hall with head bowed, feet shuffling. The thick-rimmed nerd glasses she was forced to wear as a member of the Nerd Group threatened to slide off her nose.<p>

"It's going to be all right, yo," Kira breathed as the Sparkly Police shepherded them all into their seats. Lila stared ahead, blinking away the tears that threatened to cloud her vision.

As the students took their seats, the Sparkly Police gathered into one cohesive block of military-straight lines. Together, they began to goose-step down the sides of the hall, past the podium. Out behind the screen stepped Imogene, dressed in her usual nauseating shades of fluorescent orange and pink. Her eyes scanned the lines of students with their heads bowed in deference, the ranks of the Sparkly Police with their heads turned to her in their march. She raised a hand, and the Sparkly Police promptly stopped marching, turned to face her, and saluted.

"Hail Imogene!" they cried in one voice, all hooves and wings and multicoloured eyes. Lila could see within their ranks the Eragon-loving, highly genderfluid (in fact, highly appearance-fluid) Kialandi amongst them, as well as the already-infamous half-rainbow Turtle-weed obrain and informant Scarlet Rokudo.

"Thank you, thank you my Legions of Evil," simpered Imogene, beaming at them in a way eerily reminiscent of Dolores Umbridge. "It's always so humbling to see such obedient little minions like yourselves hailing my greatness and my splendour. I'm deeply obliged to all of you."

She looked out at the masses, and her sugary-sweet expression slid considerably.

"I have heard some very unsettling news," she began, "about some very naughty students who killed their dragon protectors."

"Protectors? More like jail wardens," someone groused from next to Peter. He couldn't turn to look at the speaker, for fear of discipline from one of the riding crop-carrying Sues walking along the aisles.

Any vestiges of kindness slid off Imogene's face like butter on hot toast. "_What was that_?" she screeched.

The person shifted guiltily. Imogene glared at them, although from Peter's vantage point it really did feel as if she was glaring at him. He had a sudden urge to piss his pants.

"I said, my dear Miss Smith, what was that?"

"Nothing," Cody Smith replied smoothly.

"It sounded suspiciously like _something_, darling," cooed Imogene. Peter could almost feel it, the tingling sensation of Aura of Smooth. His stomach churned. He wanted to run away, yet he also wanted to run towards Imogene and tell her everything, yes – everything. He would follow her until the very –

Lila's fingers dug into Peter's wrist, and Peter winced at the pain. The spell broke.

"Ah, never you mind," sighed Imogene, with all the air of an American military commander who had decided that the information that could be obtained from an inmate of Guantanamo wasn't worth the effort it would take to waterboard him. "It's not what I'm here for, anyway. Before I go back to my darling Workbitch, I intend on reminding all of you who the real enemy is over here. The greatness of fanfiction writing has been spoiled and restricted by the vigilante and simply inquisitorial meddlers of the plot continuum – the so-called Protectors of such! And they are aided and abetted by the biggest crowd of losers ever to grace this Multiverse – the Nerds. Never forget that, my dears. The Nerds are those who restrict all fun. The Nerds prevent us from the recognition we truly deserve as special snowflakes. The Nerds enforce Canon rigidity and the utterly boring principles of history and grammar and research! The Nerds are bad, and they must go down!"

And with a wave of her hand, the screen behind Imogene's head lit up to show a Mary Sue, frolicking through a bright green forest surrounded by Cute Animal Friends and bubbles of Urpley-Wilver light.

Cut to a black panel with a scrollwork border – tacky silent film music was playing, after all, and the entire video appeared to be silent – and the words '_The innocent Mary Sue frolics in the flowers_'.

Peter watched on as the Mary Sue, who looked desperately beautiful even on a screen, was suddenly attacked by a black-clad and hideous, orc-like figure wearing a thick set of glasses and a t-shirt that said 'CANON ONLY'.

_Suddenly, the bad, ugly, and boring Nerd arrives to spoil her fun!_

The Nerd onscreen – obviously male – started chasing the hapless Mary Sue. Suddenly, out of the random forest arrived another equally orc-like, equally ugly female Nerd with pointedly small and saggy breasts and a huge weight problem.

_Along comes a Nerdess! The Mary Sue is utterly doomed!_

The camera panned in to zoom on the Sue's helpless, crying face (with only a single perfect tear) as the silhouettes of the Nerds loomed over her. The male Nerd, being obviously animalistic and primitive, immediately seized her hand and began kissing it while leering at her; the female Nerd sharpened a knife.

_Alas, despite her cries for help and mercy, our poor Sue suffered great torment at the hands of the evil Nerds._

Cut to a grisly tableau of the Sue, now naked and very much dead, with a slit throat and the words 'Canon-raping slut' carved on her stomach. Some of the younger students in the audience started to squirm at the sight.

_She will not be forgotten, however. Nor shall her death be forgiven._

The next scene showed a group of scantily-clad Mary Sues and Gary Stus, all lined up with pitchforks and burning torches. The fact that they all carried rainbow armbands with the symbol of the Sunflower Emperor or sparkly Urple hoods reminiscent of Ku Klux Klan robes was not lost on Peter (or any of the actual Nerds in the audience).

_We will fight on and on to rid the world of such losers with no life, such shamers of creativity, such vigilante party-poopers!_

Cut to scene of the Mary Sues and Gary Stus finding the Nerds and lynching them.

_The time of the Mary Sue is here! We must take back the creativity that allowed us to write stories where our favourite stories went our way, where we can escape and attain our personal happily ever afters. _

Cut to legions and legions of Urple-clad Sues and Stus, all marching under the banner of the Sunflower Emperor.

_We mustn't let the sore-faced PPC and Nerds ruin our fun – it's our stories; we do what we want, and any attack they have on our perfect creations is an attack on us._

The flag of the Sunflower Emperor floated translucently over the legion of Sues and Stus, as some maudlin Taylor Swift ballad played in the background (specifically a line about attaining the perfect ending with the perfect boy) and the Sues and Stus looked up at their standard with their hands on their hearts and single, perfect tears in their eyes.

_This is _your _story! Take it back! Death to the Nerds, those vile rats and worms of the fanfiction world!_

The video faded to black with that, and everyone began to clap and cheer. The Nerds, however, were not cheering and in fact had faces far more suited to a funeral wake than a propaganda film screening.

Although in their case, it was highly justified.

"Wasn't that amazing? Wasn't that stupendous?" giggled Imogene from the podium as the screen was rolled away. "That masterpiece was a creation by our very own Anastasia Braginski, representative of St Petersburg!"

More applause as a girl with purple eyes and ash blonde hair peered out from the wings, beaming.

"Our dear Anna understands it so well, doesn't she? She knows how dangerous Nerds are to preserving our Suvian heritage. They will utterly destroy us if given the chance, so we will not let them take it! We must save the Sues! We must keep and protect the beauty and purity of the Suvian kind. It was a Mary Sue who was the first Tenth Walker, a Mary Sue who was the youngest lieutenant in Starfleet, a Mary Sue who ensnared one of the richest and hottest vampires in the world. Sues have contributed to every significant new plot and major change to fanfiction. Our glory will not be dimmed! The time of the Sues is here!"

"The time of the Sues is here!" echoed the students. Lila and Peter remained silent; so did the other Nerds.

"I know you have been discontented with being sent to this school, with having your writing derided. No more! A new age has dawned, where it will be _your_ story and therefore a good story no matter what the Meddlers of the Plot Continuum say!"

There were cheers, even from the main student body. "Hail Imogene!" cried the Sparkle Police. Everyone (except the Nerds) saluted the sparkly dictator.

"Hail Imogene!" they cried, their voices as one, and Lila and Peter felt sinking senses of foreboding as they listened to the cries.

* * *

><p>"I'd like to know who the hell you two are," Jennifer retorted, staggering away from her and crossing her arms.<p>

"Long forgotten by Headquarters," replied the figure on the balcony. He – he'd removed his helmet; it was most likely a he – had olive skin, brown hair, dark eyes, and a rather constipated look about his face that made him look perpetually pissed at something, or someone.

Obviously trapped PPC Agents.

"Long-forgotten Agents from the PPC, am I right?" Jennifer asked, raising an eyebrow. "I thought only four PPC Agents had ever gone into the Mirror Multiverse."

"Do you think she's plainclothes EPC?" whispered the woman. The man shrugged, and walked over to nudge two other forms by the fire. One of them was dressed like them; she appeared to be a young girl with mousy brown hair and a dreamy look in her green eyes; the other was –

"Workbitch?" gasped Jennifer.

"Not as you know him," the brunette woman replied cheerily. "I'm Agent Meringue!"

"Mer –"

"I don't think she's EPC in disguise, you guys. They suck at disguising themselves like normal people, much less OFU non-canon staff –"

"This is the Mirror of an OFU –"

"So? The Jennifer Chang we glimpsed earlier looks nothing like her, and we did get information from some of the Suvians on Mirror-Hugh and Mirror-Takara's mission –"

Jennifer rolled her eyes as the three PPC Agents started bickering amongst themselves. "Would you like me to prove that I'm not Suvian?" she demanded.

The three of them turned to her, raising their eyebrows. Jennifer sighed.

"There are only nine members of the Fellowship," she began. "There are only twelve functioning Cylon models and the thirteenth is not a girl but a man named Daniel. Harry Potter can only be taken in by one of Lily Potter's direct family because of her protective charm. Caspian the Tenth marries Ramandu's daughter. There is no Sebastian Moran in BBC Sherlock just yet. Francis Bonnefois is not a rapist who says 'honhonhon' all the time; Yao Wang should technically not say 'aru' because it's a rude Chinese stereotype from the Japanese; and Gilbert Beilschmidt's five metres is a fanon creation." She paused, heaving a giant breath. "Now is that enough to convince you I'm not Suvian, or will I have to list off more canonical facts?"

The three Agents looked at each other, before the darker woman sighed. "Benefit of the doubt, then. I'm Agent Baklava."

"Agent Jam," added the man.

"Are they your real names?" Jennifer asked.

"More or less," Baklava replied.

Jennifer frowned. "And you three were left here by the PPC?"

"Not here; we came here by ourselves, but by accident."

"So you just happened to stumble into the Mirror IAHF."

"Pretty much."

"Won't the denizens catch you?"

"Look around you," suggested Jam. Jennifer complied, noticing that she was standing, quite inexplicably, in the Cafeteria. Or at least a portion of the Cafeteria; she could see through a thin sheen of Glitter part of the bushes and walls of the Buttiful Castiel of Doom.

"What is this?" breathed the Asian Anglophile.

"A GlitterWall. Blocks out the Suefluence in places of high Glitter concentration like badfics and the Mirror Multiverse," replied Baklava simply, taking a seat next to the fire. "We were test-running it for Make-Things."

"Speaking of him, have you heard from him?" asked Meringue curiously, tilting her head to the side and peering owlishly at Jennifer.

Jennifer frowned. "I thought he died a long time ago," she mumbled, racking her brains for the information on the history of the PPC that she had read eons ago (or at least what felt like eons ago).

"2008. We were sent on our research trip with the GlitterWall around then, right before the Macrovirus Invasion and his presumed death," Agent Jam replied. "But rumours travel. There are people around here sympathetic to us – the White Cats, for example, serve as informants to the PPC on the movements of the Mirror Multiverse. They told us Makes-Things escaped death and reappeared last year."

"The Great Hiatus," snickered Meringue. "What a Sherlockian thing to do!"

"Shut it," Jam mumbled, going red about the ears.

Jennifer chuckled. "You said something about a research trip," she noted.

"Yeah. That's how we got into this mess, actually," Baklava answered, grimacing as she prodded the Workbitch-shaped lump lying next to Meringue. "We worked in the Department of Floaters and were roped into test-driving the GlitterWall's protective and camouflage capabilities while obtaining Suvian specimens for Scientists Lori Starrett and Bill Fallis in the Department of Mary Sue Experiments and Research–"

"Unfortunately that was years ago and all of our specimens that weren't portalled back at that time are now gone," agreed Meringue sadly. "We did keep body samples of them, though, and put tracers on the Airy Oohs and possession-spirits so that the spirit-catching Scientist teams could find them later. It was all good and productive until _someone_ got us lost." At that, she glared pointedly at Jam.

"Whatcha looking at me for? I didn't get anyone lost!" Jam exclaimed, throwing his hands in the air.

"We landed in a giant canyon of sorts," continued Meringue, rolling her eyes at Jam's denials. "It was dark, extremely dark, and there were sheer cliffs above us on both sides –"

"The Void Between the Verses?" asked Jennifer.

"Is that what you call it? It wasn't much of a canyon, to be honest – more like a long expanse of Generic Surface desert, ranging from our cliffs to theirs – and trekking across it would probably have killed us –"

Jennifer blinked. "It was more like a ravine when I got there," she admitted, shivering in spite of the cheery-looking fire.

"We tried to portal to the other side." Meringue fumbled in her pack, surfacing with a burnt-out Remote Activator. "We couldn't. We could only get partway through, and we had to walk the rest. Something prevented us; the very air was rife with tension and magic."

"I was pretty sure there was something trying to prevent us from crossing," added Jam.

"He thought it was the Girdle of Melian," snickered Baklava. Jam glowered at her.

"It certainly felt that way. We were almost killed by invisible arrows, invisible ropes –"

"We made it to the other side, though, so obviously those invisible guards failed," sniffed Baklava. "Our Remote Activator worked to get us onto the other side, before burning out into sparkly fire. And then we were surrounded by Agents from the Enforcers of the Plot Continuum."

Jennifer gulped. "And how did you escape them?"

"The last time PPC Agents were sent to the Mirror Multiverse, they were in the bodies of their Mirror counterparts and were therefore only recognisable as non-Suvian when they started enunciating typos. We were immediately detected as foreign, and somehow able to bypass their defences. They were all rather surprised by that, and were debating over whether or not to take us in as prisoners or guinea pigs. We then caught sight of some other people signalling for us to come to them from the sides, and as the EPC Agents bickered, those other people raised a gun of some sort and shot one of the Agents. In the mêlée that followed, we escaped."

"But those other people chased us," added Jam. "They found us setting up the GlitterWall and told us that they were the White Cats, and that they would take us to their leader, the Bracket Fungus. They were EPC traitors who recognised us as PPC Agents, and sympathised with our plight."

"I thought it was nigh impossible for the Mirror and Prime Multiverses to contact each other outside of…" Jennifer looked around her, shrugging. "Of what's, well, happening right now."

* * *

><p>Anastasia Braginski was found dead the next morning with the shape of a nuke carved into her stomach; she appeared to have been bludgeoned to death. There were no signs of who perpetrated the attack, and although fingers naturally pointed to the Nerds (and with good reason, too), no one came forth to claim responsibility.<p>

Imogene thus had five random students rounded up and shot by firing squad. Cody Smith, Emma Northridge, George Rowland, Chad Gluesbane, and Kamila Camila Camille had their pictures added to the memorial wall. Five more martyrs of the Imogene Sparklereign.

After that, someone submitted a confession from Flannery May the Oni student – but those who knew Flannery could easily have attested that she was innocent and that the confession was a gross fake. However, the Mary Sues wouldn't have known, and some of the Sues in the new administration were so stupid that they probably couldn't tell the difference between Gollum and a House Elf even if one of them (Gollum) bit their fingers off.

Erich von Richtofen-Marlowe and Samantha Marie Pappas were discovered the day after Flannery was taken to the Staff Section (now derisively dubbed the Ministry of Love by the Underground). They were let back into the dorms with stories of how they had escaped the Sues, but the real story was obviously much more different.

"Why did you do it?" Samantha asked Erich the night of their return; they were sitting in the hallway outside her room. Erich shook his head, looking out the windows at the Staff Section. He'd spent the afternoon being tailed by his sister Erika at all times, as if she was scared that if she let him round the corner without her she would lose him again. He'd finally wrested himself free of her constant surveillance, and Samantha was there to take up the slack.

"I don't want to discuss it," Erich muttered.

"Why not? I'll tell on you. I will."

"No."

"Try me." Samantha glared.

"I can't let you do that." Erich glared back, but the anger in his eyes flashed only momentarily before flickering into resignation and sadness. "You can't give me away. You're in it, too."

"I –"

"They'll take you away again if I don't, Samantha," Erich snapped, his entire face turning ashen at the very words tumbling out of his mouth. "I... I can't let that happen to you, what they did to me."

"What did they do to you?"

"They..." Erich blinked rapidly and looked away. "Just know that you're better off with things like this, Samantha."

"I..." Samantha felt the tears well up in her own eyes. She wanted to reach out to him, to the boy who had saved her life – yet at the look in her eyes Erich von Richtofen-Marlowe seemed to wilt, seemed to edge away from her as if he didn't want her touching him.

That wasn't very heartening, either. Samantha retreated away from him, blinking away her tears, and diverted her attention to the windows looking out at the new Ministry of Love.

Outside, in the half-light, four figures were escorted to the Wasignton and shot.

* * *

><p>"That Void is there for a Reason," Jam pointed out. "There are protections on both sides of the Void, I'm sure, and we were recognised by the Prime half and almost rejected by the Mirror half. But like Beren stumbling into Doriath through the Girdle of Melian –"<p>

"Oh god, this is worse than him relating our stuff to Conan Doyle," groaned Baklava.

"_Shut up_." Jam crossed his arms. "We came through great peril at great need, with a little sprinkle of fate."

"Bullshit," grumbled Baklava.

"Shush! _Speaking_!" Meringue huffed. "In any case, the White Cats contact the PPC through badfics; they go in and leave notes for their PPC contacts, who are usually purposefully assigned to those fics so they can collect the information. It's risky, but it's the only common ground they have."

"Okay, and how did youget _here_?" asked Jennifer, still wondering why the Workbitch-shaped lump hadn't moved.

"We've been on the run from the EPC, genius," Baklava snorted. "We more or less moved from verse to verse in this distorted Mirror Multiverse, and this has been our longest tenure. Most likely because there has been so much muddling from Sues in the Prime Multiverse that the EPC doesn't bother with it anymore, so it was a good place to settle down. But we move camp constantly; a Sue by any other Multiverse is still as Glittery."

"Satow – Mirror-Hugh – said that this place was created by the Chronotransporter," Jennifer noted.

"Lies," Jam said immediately. "Mirror-IAHF has existed since the founding of the school. It, like Mirror-OFUM and Mirror-HFA, takes goodfic writers and turn them into badfic writers."

"Then what was all that BS about Agnes Hill creating the Mirror-IAHF?"

"Propaganda from the brainwashing camp that Mirror-IAHF has become, to suit the purposes of Imogene Fraser." Jam crossed his arms. "Agnes Hill_ was _the first Prime Multiverse Mary Sue Defective to_ discover_ the Mirror Multiverse; Imogene was the subsequent Mary Sue coloniser."

"Imogene sympathised with the EPC, of course, and sought to help the Sunflower Emperor expand into the Prime Multiverse under the stipulation that she would get free rein over Mirror-IAHF as well as Prime-IAHF when it was conquered –"

"Conquered!" Jennifer paled, scrambling away from the Agents, the fire, the prone form of Not-Workbitch. "Oh god, no! I have to go back!"

"We can't help you with that," Jam said, shrugging.

"But it's my home! The Mary Sues are going to take over my –"

"Yes. Yes, we know. And we're sorry."

"Fat lot of help_ that's _going to be, you lot being _sorry_ for me while –"

"Imogene Fraser has to be stopped first," Meringue said abruptly. "She has perverted the very fabric of Mirror-IAHF into something that suits her rule, something that will allow the tainted side of the Prime Multiverse to take over the rest. It wasn't Mirror-Hugh and Mirror-Takara who killed Agnes Hill. We saw it. It was Imogene."

* * *

><p>"Look at this!" hissed Stanley, dragging Peter by the hand to the entrance to the Cafeteria, where the newest edition of the <em>Bled Chronicles<em> was posted. Since Shinbun's bewitchment, the paper had disseminated nothing but lies.

"Nerds responsible for the killing of four students?" Peter demanded, frowning as he read the headlines. Stanley's eyes were wide; Peter read the captions of the pictures with dryness in his throat.

"Gloria Barber, Sean Tanaka, Brently Loserdoodle, and Morgan LeFine have all been found dead this morning by the Wasignton, obviously the work of the Nerd Group trying to slaughter untrustworthy, undesirable students within the ranks!"

"Two creepers and two students who shouldn't even be at IAHF. Clever," breathed Boris from next to Peter.

"Undesirables for both sides, really," agreed Alexis from next to him. Together, all four of them entered the Cafeteria, Peter being shunted to the back of the queue forming for the food and kept there with the rest of the Nerds.

When Peter finally made it to the food, most of it – Austrian, with various tortes and cakes – was already gone. He took whatever he could and made his way to Stanley's table, but no sooner had he taken a seat did the doors to the Cafeteria swing open and a troupe of Suestapo officers march in.

"Hail Imogene!" they cried, and many students responded in kind. Peter gulped, tempted to take a seat or melt away into the ground, but obviously unable to do either.

The Suestapo produced several sheets of paper. "Today we implement new rules to punish the Nerds for what they have done to our school, for all the divisions they have wrought with their influence. Today we unite! Nerds are no longer allowed in the Cafeteria at all! Hail Imogene!"

Peter looked down at his food forlornly, and turned about to leave the Cafeteria. Stanley took his cakes; with a wink the other student wrapped them in napkins to smuggle out in his messenger bag.

"Wait!" one of the Suestapo cried, waving another set of papers. "We have arrest warrants for the following Nerds and other enemies of the Sparklereign: Franklin Mycroft Livingston, Lila Kirk, Alexis Cal, and R'lyeh."

Peter felt a bolt of ice shoot down his spine at hearing Lila's name.

"If any of you find them, there is a reward for turning them in. That will be all."

Peter quickly slipped out of the Cafeteria with the other Nerds, as the Suestapo moved to enforce their new policy of a Nerd-free Cafeteria. He rushed for the dorms, headed into the tunnels, and pelted straight into Lila as she walked by with Ursula and Kira.

"Oh god, gomen nasa – sorry, I'm... Lila, they've got an arrest –"

Lila grabbed him by the arms. "Peter, what are you talking about?" she demanded.

"They've got an arrest warrant out for you, and Alexis, and Franklin, and R'lyeh – we've got to warn them, and you've got to go even deeper underground –"

"Calm down, Peter," Lila soothed, shifting her grip from his arms to the sides of his face. "We're going to be all right."

She kissed his forehead; Peter bowed his head and wondered why he was so panicky while she, the one who was now officially on the run from the new regime, was so calm and strong.

"I don't want you to go. I don't want to lose you," he blubbered. "Not to them."

"They haven't figured out how to get at us in here," Lila reminded him. "We're going to be perfectly fine."

None of them noticed a figure sitting in the corner of the Undergound with bloodshot eyes and notes.

* * *

><p>"It was… Imogene?"<p>

"All of the people you have spoken to have fed you the lies that Imogene is trying to pervade – that her hands are clean of the blood of Agnes Hill. Imogene stabbed her, took control of the Chronotransporter, and tested out her brainwashing techniques on the Good OC Factory Realistically Ever After Ltd., perverting it into a Mary Sue Factory. She corrupted Mirror-Lilith, brainwashed most of the denizens of Mirror-IAHF, and had them create a bridge that would lead them into Prime Multiverse IAHF with the onset of the Merge."

"And the infiltration of the Prime Mary Sue Factories?"

"Mirror-Lilith is there to ensure the cooperation of the Prime Multiverse Factories, but Imogene intends on taking over the Factories anyway. Lebensraum, she calls it."

_How fully_, thought Jennifer, _did you have to be brainwashed in order to believe you committed someone else's crime_?

"I'm lost again," she admitted aloud. "Is there or isn't there a Merge? And what does the Bridge have to do with anything? IAHF's definitely going to be attacked, right? And what on earth are you lot doing _here _if you know about this link back home?"

Baklava rolled her eyes. "EPC Agents have been protecting the IAHF-Bridge for Imogene. Judging by your comment on the decreasing size of the Void, there will be some form of Merge between the two – but it is nowhere as devastating as you think it is. The gap will only shrink to accommodate the Bridge, through which the Mirror-IAHF makes its attack on Prime-IAHF."

"So we're stopping Imogene first," Meringue agreed. "We need to take her back to the Prime Multiverse to answer for her crimes, and we need to find this Chronotransporter, destroy it, and destroy all of the alternate timelines it's created."

* * *

><p><strong>Notes:<strong> I have a timeline available for anyone too confused by the events in this ongoing Multiverse plot arc. Contact me for further details.


	54. Six Steps to Doomsday

**Notes:** When was this last updated? Oh, almost a year ago? Oh gosh, that's terrible. Sorry. Um. Some talks with friends at the PPC have brought IAHF back to mind again, so here's another chapter. Erp. Apologies for the fail and the disjointedness and, ugh, everything.

**Additional Disclaimer:** Big Murphy belongs to KGarrett, and is borrowed with his encouragement, actually.

* * *

><p><strong>Part IV<strong>

There was something… something missing…

Arthur Kirkland clutched his forehead, but his mind felt foggy, fuzzy, enveloped in white oblivion. He tried so hard to think, but all he could think of was sitting in a room, discussing a bridge…

The Bridge? Wasn't that in a different fandom? But Eduard Von Bock said there was one here, too…

But didn't American Workbitch say it connected badfics to Canon, the one in that other fandom?

Arthur was so very confused. Perhaps it was a different sort of bridge, since IAHF obviously couldn't be considered Canon, not by a long shot. It had to be something different.

Perhaps the true intent of this bridge was revealed after the oblivion overtook him. Shame he couldn't remember a speck of it.

Arthur wanted to bang his head against the nearest surface. But banging his head would be counterproductive to the issue, and would probably make a headache worse.

"Iggy-darling?" Someone was simpering that revolting nickname at him again! He opened his mouth to give the fanbrat what for, but the fog was swirling in his mind once more, drawing and sucking him in, pulling him under.

The last thing he knew was the sound of Suvian laughter.

* * *

><p><em>"Do you know the steps of genocide?" asked Howard the Spy. <em>

_The others gathered in the room – mostly the second semester and new students – all shook their heads. Howard took it in stride, though, turning to the makeshift blackboard (scrawled on with chalkboard paint at the last minute) to write them down._

_"There are eight steps of genocide. Copy them down; this might save your life. First, you have classification."_

* * *

><p>"Identification?" demanded an urple-haired, bled-eyed Sue as Sandra East stepped into the main building.<p>

Sandra held out the card that the Sues had forced all the students to obtain. The Sue looked at the card, back at Sandra, and sneered.

"Ah, you're a Nerd. The library's the other way, sweetcheeks."

"Really?" asked Sandra. "I thought you lot burned the library."

The Sue glared. "Move it," she snapped, stepping aside. "And under no circumstances are you allowed into that cafeteria!"

* * *

><p><em>"Next, you have symbolisation."<em>

* * *

><p>In his room, Peter looked at the glasses that he'd been forced to wear. Across from him, Stanley South flopped down onto his bed and tossed over some leftover food from lunch.<p>

"I'm sorry, bro, about Lila. You must be starving," remarked Stanley, frowning.

Peter sighed. "She's fine. She's Underground."

"And the others?"

"Also there." Peter stared at his hands. Whoever thought that Hetalia would make history all rainbows and puppies and sunshine needed to be dragged out into the middle of the street and shot.

"You know, that's what I used to think," Stanley muttered. "That Hetalia was supposed to be lighthearted. Well, it is, but… it's lighthearted because then the irony's even more apparent, you know?"

Peter raised an eyebrow. Stanley stared up at the ceiling.

"I thought it was just a bunch of jokes about stereotypes," he said after a moment.

"It is," said Peter, frowning. "It's full of cute Nations with… fun stories… and friendships… but that just makes the bad parts worse, doesn't it? We read about France and Jeanne D'Arc, and we see those strips, and we… we see the story where Francis meets Lisa… and it's so much sadder because we know. We know the history behind it."

"When did it become this serious?" wondered Stanley.

Peter snorted, and put the nerd glasses away. "Everything changed when the Sparkle Nation attacked?" he suggested weakly.

* * *

><p><em>"Then you have dehumanisation."<em>

* * *

><p>"Rat!"<p>

"Scum!"

Ismenia Yolanda Octavia frowned as she strode past the occupants of the main building. Sandra should be somewhere nearby, she knew, and thus she blocked out the jeering of the Sparkly Police.

"I wish you'd go home, swirly!" someone shouted – Yolanda couldn't even see her face – but she found herself being pulled away from the corridor, sucked back into the darkness of her purple lamp.

Time ticked on, and it felt like ages before she heard someone step by and rub the lamp. With a gasp of relief, Ismenia surfaced –

Only to come face to face with Anna Kirkland, one of the more squealy new fangirls to the school.

"I heard you're a genie, and you'll do whatever I command you to!" declared the girl. Ismenia resisted the urge to bang the lamp against her head. She also resisted the urge to flee back into it, since chances were, the girl would resummon her.

"That's the rule, yes," she replied drily.

Anna hugged her Mochi Kimajaro-San – who looked more like a mountain in Africa than a Mochi or even its supposed bear namesake. "You're going to make Iggy-chan fall in love with me!" she declared.

Ismenia gaped at the girl, rubbing her temples and adjusting her identification glasses. "Are… you serious?" she demanded.

"Do it now!" snapped Anna.

"There's a _war_ going on, and you want… _what_?!"

"Exactly! We should have Iggy on our side, right? Because we gotta win, right? We're going to win and I'm going to marry Iggy and be happy until the end of my days! This is just like the Blitz! Isn't it exciting?"

As if on cue, the air raid sirens rang throughout the dorms. Ismenia and Anna took cover, but Anna's eyes gleamed at the genie from her spot under the desk.

"Don't even try to float away, swirly," she whispered. "You're nothing but my slave, and you're gonna make Iggy fall in love with me or else."

* * *

><p><em>"Then you have organisation."<em>

* * *

><p>The all-clear sounded. R'lyeh looked up from his papers to see a blue oblong doorway flicker into existence.<p>

"How on _earth_ did this happen?" demanded the tall, solidly built Irishman that stepped through said portal.

The first thing that R'lyeh thought had happened was that one of the numerous Ireland OCs had somehow gotten wind of portal technology. But no, this man had a patch on his sleeve with a quail on it. R'lyeh's eyes narrowed.

"And who are you?" he asked hesitantly, his hand straying towards the gun lying on the table next to him. The broad red-haired man held his hands up in an appeasing gesture.

"James Murphy, Department of Operations," he declared. "We at the PPC regularly hear the Lurker's Underground broadcasts. Upstairs wanted to practice a policy of isolationism, but some of us thought otherwise and, well…" he held out his arms. "Here we are. How did the Sues become so organised?"

R'lyeh frowned. "How do I know I can trust you?" he demanded, his hand closing around the gun. Murphy's eyes flickered to it and back to the Lovecraftian City's face.

"There are only nine members of the Fellowship," he replied. "Francis is not a rapist, Yao does not say aru after every line, and 'Iggy' is not a suitable nickname for Arthur Kirkland."

R'lyeh pursed his lips, but his hand drew away from his gun.

"You claim to be from the PPC, I note," he said after a moment.

"I run a store in New Caledonia called Big Murphy's. It sells weapons."

R'lyeh frowned. "Anything else?"

"It connects to HQ, where I can obtain other supplies." Murphy strode over to the Lovecraftian City. "I can tell you're going to need all the supplies you can get, so tell me in return – what sort of Sues are these?"

"An assortment, I think," replied R'lyeh. "Some claim to serve one they call 'Angelle Hill'; the others claim to serve the 'Sunflower Emperor'."

Murphy's eyes widened. "Say that again," he demanded.

"The two factions in the Sues serve different people, one called Angelle Hill, the other called the Sunflower Emperor."

Murphy's shoulders slumped. "No wonder they're organised."

"They all serve in common a Sue called Imogene Fraser," added R'lyeh.

"An axis of glitter," snorted Murphy, but his expression sobered almost immediately. "Right, I've got it, then," he declared, opening another portal behind him. "You'll be hearing from us soon. Don't worry – Upstairs will only have to turn a blind eye. Well, if they had eyes, that is."

And with that, a faint glimmer of hope was kindled.

* * *

><p><em>"Then you have polarisation."<em>

* * *

><p>"You know, Stanley Milgram once performed this experiment," said Lila as Peter took a seat next to her on a ratty old sofa in the Underground. Her brown hair was unkempt and she looked like she hadn't slept for days, and yet still she was beautiful – still, she persevered, kept on living and hoping even though there was a price for her head.<p>

"What experiment?" wondered Peter as he put an arm around her. Lila burrowed into his side, sighing.

"He wanted to know if it was possible to turn ordinary people into sociopaths," she said. "You wouldn't electrocute someone, would you?"

Peter recoiled. "No," he replied, scowling. "That's…painful."

"And yet these ordinary people in the experiment did it. They sent four hundred and fifty volts of electricity through another human being." Lila paused. "Well, they thought they did, at any rate. It was all a simulation, with no one actually getting hurt on the other side. But the person sending the shocks – the subject of the experiment – didn't know that, and yet still they went higher and higher."

Peter raised an eyebrow, urging Lila to continue.

"Of course, the subjects of the experiment weren't exactly happy with the situation – they were all stressed and stuff – but sixty-five percent of them finished the experiment, which means that they delivered the final amount. And do you know why they did it?"

"There was someone telling them to."

"Exactly." Lila scowled. "Just because someone told them to, they did it. They went against their own morals and electrocuted another human being. That's the exact same thing that's going on right now."

"People aren't getting shocked," Peter pointed out.

"But the people that do get captured are betrayed by their own friends and peers," replied Lila. "Ordinary people who're just 'doing their jobs' or 'didn't actually mean any harm' could still become monsters. Ordinary people just trying to protect their way of life could become killers, unwittingly allowing the deaths of millions. Do you think that –"

There was a scream. Lila and Peter leapt to their feet immediately. There was a pounding, a pounding on the walls and the pitter-patter of feet.

Moments later, Samantha Marie Pappas came running into the room. "Lila, Peter, we've got to go! Erich's betrayed us – the Sues are coming!"

* * *

><p><em>"And right now, we're at preparation." Howard looked out at his students. "I'd like to remind you all that there are two steps left, and we can only hope that we don't get there. We can only hope for help. We're doing the best we can to stave off the oncoming storm, but in the end, it takes only the attitudes of the moderates who aren't affected adversely to change the outcome of these conflicts. Only you can stop genocide."<em>

_He paused, looking back at the board. "Throughout history, real-life genocides have been over things far worse than this, things that may not be the result of your upbringing. You can become educated in history and languages and therefore be dubbed a Nerd by the Sparkly Regime. But you cannot help what race you're from, and many of these historical genocides have been targeting race. Racial-driven hate speech still exists today, and every slur could potentially broil into something much worse if not held in check by everyone else. As much as I hate to see the innocent suffering, I feel like this time at IAHF is the perfect time to show you what war and hate really is about. That's something the Canon doesn't want to cover, but something that must be discussed anyway."_

_After a while, he laughed. "This, I think, is learning through pain."_

* * *

><p>"Iggy-chan?"<p>

Oh, but he wasn't a little Japanese girl, was he? He was Arthur Kirkland, the former British Empire, the one who Ruled the Waves.

"Iggy-chan, I had my new slave bring you over here! You're mine now, hee! I think I'll also add Mattie to my collection after this – Slave Genie! I wish for you to bring me Mattie and make him fall in love with me!"

Arthur Kirkland blinked in confusion as he sat up, but the moment he did, he was bowled over by a diminutive female form, squealing about how 'kawaii' he was.

The fog was ebbing only slightly. Arthur turned his head to see another student, a Genie with six arms and long pink hair and a set of thick-rimmed glasses on her face, looking at him with sorrow in her light blue eyes.

"I'm so sorry," said Ismenia. "I'll get you out of this somehow."

And the fog won Arthur over.


End file.
